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Jeff
Fleming
Mid-August, Plantation House, 1954
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Outside the open
window,
humidity hangs
heavy in the trees,
dripping occasionally
from leaf to leaf,
a soft pattering sound
like indecisive rain.
Mother lies still now,
gone, mouth agape,
soul’s escape. We
close it gently, pulling
the sheet over her head.
Despite the heat,
Henry starts to shiver.
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