Sometimes
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my dead brother said, “Furniture had no power over me. Sometimes I slept like a stone. Sometimes I kept my eyes closed in the dirt and longed for a summer furious enough. I lay in the coils of the worm and never learned to speak. Words I never said vanished in thin air in the upper world. Sometimes I heard you attempt dialogue with a dog. Or you called to a bird and scared it off. What are you but thistledown drifting through a cemetery? In the desert of your memory, Sister, why do you make me wander?” [End Page 597]
