Suzanne Edgar: Five Poems

The Temptation I hope I’ll never try to imitate my mother’s way of death: her low despairing cry,   perhaps a choking; the leaving behind of breath to sink in soft pillows and become a thing changed, like nothing on earth;   her cold room in an odd way hollow after she failed to rouse or react. Hope I never use pills like those she swallowed   to cheat the one who’d broken their pact and was stopped in his tracks at her door by the undeniable fact:   no gunshot wound or blood on the floor, only a terrible…

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