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Day After
December 22, 2015
I did not cry
when Mother spilled my milk,
picked at her cloud of pepper hair,
picked at the untouched blackberry
that had rolled on the table,
picked at the tremors
in my hands.
While her voice
madly twinged again,
our dog licked the frothy puddle.
© Bree C., Marblehead, MA
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