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New Life The baby cries. As she rises, in unison her tears, her blood, her warm sweet milk begin their slow descent to the river of her soul. In the comfort of the stove-top bulb she nurtures the newborn. Lost in a world of suckling lips with a mother’s swollen heart, she sighs. A whispered escape from a strangled sob She refuses to release, shudders. Her daughter’s perfect fingers knead the silken breast as once he had, and she chokes upon the realization she had fought to suppress. This was prom night. The mother cries. |
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