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summer through the open window

The summer came early through the open window. My mother was up early and playing the untuned piano downstairs. She cried between the broken chords. I moved closer to the window. My neighbors stood on the edge of lawn outside and squinted into the hazy sunrise and talked about discovery of another dead, mutilated dog found in the orchard. I held my wrists in the rising light. I thought about going away for the day. I thought about drinking beer in the peach orchards and dreaming my life away in the smell of canal water and the valley dust. I drew pictures and pasted collages and wondered how I would ever escape the simplicity of my bordered mind and a life dying before it realized its first breath.

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