Sell-By Date

better I let him now while I still engage the persistent haranguing of marketplace bargaining than to weep for it when the brawl has reclined to a crawl and no one stoops to bargain at my market stall.

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Smoke and ash augur loss the night My mother feeds her diary into flame, Sheet by sheet, line by cursive line, And then a wind weaves through, just enough To blow a flame back at her, searing her skin. She hesitates a moment, penitent, then pulls back. Did she let it hurt for one second

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