A young man remains in the room after I dismiss class. I dread having to counsel him on homesickness or a girl who shot him down because he thinks I’m emotionally available because my eyes watered when I discussed Jocasta’s suicide. I
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I pulled the kettle from the stove before it boiled to a whistle, and I lurched down to the basement as silently as my creaking bones would allow. That is where my flowers slept, waiting for me. After all, is it not
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The question the emu had for the pig was, “Why headless?” “It’s just the sort of thing he does.” The pig’s corkscrew tail did not twitch as he explained, fixed as it was to his plaster haunches. “It’s his vision, if you will.”
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