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Death Has Kissed Your Skin.
We gather as our family always does *
The silence of our empty chatter is broken by the ghost of you. *
We fill our plates with food we hardly taste: *
We recount the moments of your life, one broken fragment at a time. *
I'm told you didn't cry when your husband gambled away the deposit for the house. *
You swallowed quiet anger.
"Mija, I had my own money."
In a time when women didn't own anything, you hid money from your husband because you knew: *
Can't be trusted
Protects her family
An alcoholic gambler
A mother
70-years you lived in that house but it's only when your gone that I learn how you really felt. *
You digested regret.
"I always thought of this as MY house."
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