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Lazarus
I remember the dark
four o’clock phone call,
the night my brother
said “hello” to death
and opened up the door.
I remember the voice
on the end of the line
I could feel his pulse
knocking through my skull,
the harbinger of February doom.
‘Some one died’ I said
aloud or to myself.
I went into the black
to raise my Lazarus-parents
to answer a call for help.
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