I wish no one had ever said anything about these things I say now I'm struggling to remember James' grandmother with the eyes like bloody raw meat perched in the hospital bed cutlerying her tray meal with shaking fall apart hands and all I
can think is "make it brilliant" in one ear the old woman in the big empty carcass of a hospital in the other the things people will say about my dismembering of her and straight ahead
bitter, futile anger for being dragged along with his life, not mine, because I'd stepped away from dying folks and family and he was so good, so so good, next to my chasisted impetuous little girl and I
swell up & up & up & up with despair, with something, I inflate and I float away from him by his nanna's bedside, the aura of them blinding.
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