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October 2013, vol 9, no 3

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Adelaide B. Shaw


Being Alive

Unrelenting heat. The old man with dazed eyes accepts an ice cream. The first taste sends a flicker of acknowledgement and pleasure. Although I don't know this man or the woman who is helping him, I feel the sting of tears.

I am afraid to see myself in his role, afraid to think of a life imprisoned by mind and body, afraid to think of needing constant care and attention.

sweat between my breasts
the unpleasant awareness
of being alive




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