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I pushed
myself flat on the floor and pretended
to be dead.

I lied,
with my cheek pressed
to the carpet making
silent ohs with my mouth.

The worn carpet was cranberry red
like Mamma’s favorite summer dress
with pockets full of cashews and gum.

Where was Mamma now?

After the fireworks, gun powder filled my nose.
Stomping, black boots shook the floor.
I wondered if I would die here.

I remembered

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