Sandra Alcosser


Auntie lies in the rest home with a feeding tube and a bedpan, she
weighs nothing, she fidgets and shakes, and all I can see are her
knotted hands and the carbon facets of her eyes, she was famous for her
pies and her kindness to neighbors, but if it is true that every hat
exhibits a drama the psyche wishes it could perform, what was my aunt
saying all the years of my childhood when she squeezed into cars with
those too tall hats, those pineapples and colored cockades, my aunt who
told me

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