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Afternoon: a wreck of paper
and coloured ribbons.
It rains and rains.  You're absent
As if unborn.  Family swarms around us
The machines hum:
Clean dishes and music, dinner, steam
On the windows.  What ar eyou up to?  The same
Things, I assume.  The same dream.
Today you're the blank
Side of the moon.

There's cooked bird, a sharp knife
That's real and to be dealt with

Arrogance, for me
To believe I know you
Or anything about your life.

~Matgatet Atwood