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For my ancestral mothers Something pure and unsaid made me Turn away from my wailing soul, Fix my footing in the shifting sand, And forget like a broken mirror the asps, Assassins, and their bog-wet progeny Besetting me, as foretold by the oracle; Hissing and jostling like eels to take my heart Into the sewers […]

I began the day with grey dawn, nervous that the blue sky and sun I longed for might not appear, but then I realised it was not yet six in the morning