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Margaret
Chula
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festive tree lights
on the eve of the solstice two years ago I placed a poinsettia on my father's grave weeks after the blizzard dirty mounds of snow and swayback aspens how long does it take for love to disappear? twenty years later I read my old copy of Tanizaki's The Key what was so urgent about all those underlines? again distracted while making breakfast my husband's angry face as he spreads marmalade on burnt toast past the age for intrigue and longing I spend the day reading the diaries of Heian women all those birthday cards tucked into my Thesaurus over the years tumble out into my lap –so many words for "love"
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