strokesurvivor
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Miriam dreams of the sleepShe lost, the day he fellNow a cup of tea, a reverieUnpaid work that love demandsThe love she can’t recall“Wiwam,” he calls outShe goes to him, a beeEmptying her bellyDrip by drip, drainingCorpse of a spouse, skeletonLaco
Even though my fingers may curl,
and my ankles wobble as I walk,
that does not mean that I am less.
