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 All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.
The stars.
The moon with its shrunken soul.
Can I become what I want to become? Neither wife or mother.
I am noone and nobody is my lover.
I am afraid that when I go mad, my father will bow his downy head into his silver wings and weep.
My daughter, O my daughter.
Originally Published in The 2River View, 10.
1, 2005 Copyright © Lisa Zaran, 2005

by Lisa Zaran
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