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If it had been a heart attack, the newspaper,as if a mountain range had openedinside her, but instead, a light coming onin an empty room. The telephonefell from my shoulder, a black parrot repeatinga sunday, dusky. If it had been, we could have cradled heras she grew smaller, wiped her mouth,,how overnight we could be orphaned& the world became a bell we’d crawl inside& the ringing all we’d eat.
