Baked goods and bread, biscuits and ladyfingers. Who taught us they start to spoil as soon as they’re exposed to air? S was the first to rape her followed by the juvenile and then A. Bone marrow, bus driver, then later a second time. This will not rise. The yeast is too putrid, or too cold. Later, when she lost consciousness, there was another time. Another time. They’ve sifted her ashes and scattered them. Sacred river with muddy waters on whose banks so many bodies have blazed to the afterlife. Birds’ wings anointed with ash. Her father said she used to stop for a sweet on the way to school. The shopkeeper always relented. Ah what is a child but the sweetness of a hope before it vanishes like a dark stone into the depths of the gut? With his bare hands. With his bare hands he pulled them out. Fix this clearly in your mind as you approach the fire. Do not scald the milk, the delicate skin on which this spore should flower into nothing less than a thousand points of her name.
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