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And holy holy, the life it held

And holy holy, the life it held

Parents, hear, whatever may come, you,

you made life. If that

is not your reason to drop down

on your kitchen floor; to rubble turned or

marble made, scratch

your nails at where the crayon

was—the wall you painted

over, the wall that bombs—

it holds

his name.

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Nathalie Spaans