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Maura High

Fall 1989

The Etiquette of Grief

By Maura High

The doll cried what I Wanted to cry, the inconsolable Repetitive maa-maa Bleating from the rose Of perforations in its back. My father had just died, And my mother stood […]

Fall 1989

A Kind of Aubade

By Maura High

I woke before dawn and laylistening for the echoes of my dream, or the bark, or birdcall, or whatever it was that roused me. Your body floated inert, alongside, breathing […]