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Sarah Thompson

Tiny hand, fingernails
like inaudible breaths
wrap my pointer finger.

Fish out his limp arm.

Three fingers
through the baby blue sleeve.

He would have had to have open-heart surgery at four months. Have to had blonde hair. Have would call him monkey or kiss his knee.  Had to would purse his lips like a little skin-heart. He at his brain bleeds away dislike of peas and reflex.

respirator
off

I dangle from breaths
the size of bruised apricots.

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