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  • because of returning from a pure land - the kitchen seems dismal, the pottery dark, my husband seems tired/pre-occupied with his son's departure to Tuscon for college, the house feels unattended to, lazy susans blooming, the Honda, a car from a previous marriage dies infact right at exit 55 on the 15 perfect timing, the end, a beginning, just as they begin their trip to the airport, Gabe and I left for hours on the side of the highway waiting for a flatbed to arrive while the other 1/2 of the family blurs towards LaGuardia and make the plane. A faithful if sad flatbed driver who thinks maybe of going to Nicaragua for a bit accepts a tip as he drops us off at our mailbox, a/the glimmering act which prevents me from having to carry my little boy home from the car repair shop on top of it all. We ask if 'the trust' should buy another car. I think no, maybe, a round of bicycles, curtain rods + sheer pieces of cloth, tangerine.
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