Day Nineteen: To the mother I once knew with pinpricks of blood on her blouse, on my diaper. Years later, a machine needle lodged in the center of her middle fingernail. She held her hand to the light, smirked, pulled out the silver sliver, pressed the zipper foot, and a wizzz lulled me back to sleep. To this mother who made meatballs, I…
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Day Nineteen: To the mother I once knew with pinpricks of blood on her blouse, on my diaper. Years later, a machine needle lodged in the center of her middle fingernail. She held her hand to the light, smirked, pulled out the silver sliver, pressed the zipper foot, and a wizzz lulled me back to sleep. To this mother who made meatballs, I…
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