| Arlene Ang
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| Aftermath there are afternoons which belong to death in which crow-pecked violets thrive the chinaware in the sink rattles you watch the water flow yesterday there was Rachmaninov streaming through open skylight this morning you hear the piano sold moved to another house only violets are left in the garden you remain there bent in mud pushing into the soil an autopsy report placed in your hand by men in slept-in white and you wonder to yourself - is it my turn to make dinner tonight? |
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Previously published in LiNQ, Australia (May 1998) Copyright © 2000 Arlene Ang All Rights Reserved |
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