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In my Sister’s Image

G?d created me in my sister’s image to do my hair manually, daily and nightly with the same pajamas. It was brave of you to arrive. With atypical gestures, I whispered, “Today.” In crafted tones, in our long-distance telephone conversations, I was the knife set salesman — aggressive, self-injurious — and you, the friendly name at the end of an electric road. I have seen your name in lights, with big lit arrows blinking me your way, as deeply ingrained as the motion for breathing. I am a full natural woman in your gaze. This is an ancient ritual, me, delivering blueberries to your doorstep.

Posted 01/02/19
This piece was first published by Lambda Literary.
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