Gale Bria Hung, _ghost of mother

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ghost of mother
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the ghost of my mother
speaks better english than she did
she brings the shell of my father
still wrapped in her silk
dry and consumed

mother comes each time
i break tradition
each time i sleep
with a man in america
her gravestone eyes push
out angry disgust

my father's pale face stares
up in death shock revelation
smaller than i remember

mother died years ago
and i've been leaving her since

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Gale Bria Hung
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