My mother's death
Will be thirteen soon.
I've no idea
What to buy it.
When it was small
We got along well;
It was endlessly curious
About its origin
"Tell me about her;
How short was she?
What did you talk about
That last time? Did
She talk about me?"
It's different now
Always languishing
Against walls
Pale-eyed, thin, too tall
For its own strength.
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