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   how was it that he would want to earn   her  , 

a second wife?


the way he would shear at my father's sheep

every muscle bent

and his neck throbbing

a hidden sun from some distant blessing


even as he ate the food i would prepare

with his fingers held mid air

at times

the only talking between us

how was it then . . .

into our nights where

everything practical

measured became

for every son i bore him

the war i could never win