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grandmother you spit the sermon

of red teeth and trembling jaws

and pale skin and country blood

always blood

you gather momma and daddy's

and i's lives in your palm and squeeze

until bones grate upon skin

and you threaten to litter us

throughout the graveyard yourself

you know i'm eight years old and

i wonder if you're going to kill

yourself today or try to murder

me instead

but that is all okay because

you are blessed by god

himself, you step into the church

and pretend to pray for the very family

that lay broken beneath you

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