I. Of how I arrived sans serif In the brief blue hour of my mother’s disbelief I can only say I was A mass, coming apart like a rosary in the untranslated years. II. Your cries were monolingual then, with face all ampersands & stops & straining To be known you clasped the cord That bound me and said Return In fewer words. III. My own personal jar Silence for three days Father’s endless praying Mother cradling an empty blanket, she stares Through the glass And watches me sleep
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