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HELEN WOODWARD
Woman 1
Living within the whitness of her skin,
Looking out from the darkness of her eyes,
Smoking the cigarettes with a mouth both sour and dry,
Cloaked in her comforts, receiving none,
Touching the curled edges of photographs lest she forget,
The world in one moment, in moments to come,
Should she unravel? Not yet, not yet.
ƒ „
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