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The walls of the room are white and clean -all sign's of yesterdays sorrows scrubbedaway with bleach.
When they were young,She kept wicket for her brothers,They batted,Bowled,Padded upAnd ratcheted up the score.She crouched behind the stumps
I was born with a map of Australia on my face;it was beautiful, my mother told me – there was nobody like me in the whole wide worldwho could trace the edges of down under
This is my story.It is mine alone because I am the one who needsto tell it.I am the one who is still here,no longer stage right but
Toothless, she kisseswith fleshy lipsrounded, like mouthof a bottle, all wet
She bruises your facealmost, with twoloving tree-root hands.