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Sticky with aloe to soothe the day’s idle pains. Hair thick, plastered to the edges of my forehead. High atop the sea wall, watching the kids play below. The sun roasted me good, but I’ll just turn brown as a berry on the morrow. Pretty as a dream as I wove my way to church. A flaming pink dress from Mexico, handed down by my mom. All tied up at my shoulders, pointed lace at the hem. But all I’ll remember is my panic as I ironed it pale.

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