September 8, 2017

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it was the
Steady beep of a monitor somewhere in the room
The scent of rose petals and Jasmine
And desperation
And the prayer beads wrapped around my fingers
And the face mask
That concealed much more than my face
And the bright blue latex on my mother's hands that was somehow sadder than funeral black
The look on the woman's face as she bent and made a sad effort to make light
And the hopelessness in your mother's eyes
As if the universe was the shawl wrapped around her shoulders

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