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Waushol Babuska, will we have pirogi today? or Borsht and cabbage rolls? Potato pie plus beet soup that is a mix of your tears and children's deaths. Waushol, can I once more pretend to shave your face? crawl onto your lap and let the stubble scratch my face? tell me stories about asia, is it true Asian women have smaller twats? that your friends took a picture while you pissed off the great wall? hold me close again, let us watch our bodies sink down that couch so soft I fall asleep in the curve of your body and legs. later you carried me upstairs to bed while i pretended to still be sleeping, just to feel you holding me. When babuska questioned my sanity because I talked to my dolls you said I was gifted and creative. Waushol, do you know my heart breaks when i look into those steel grey eyes of yours? at 76 you've been reduced to sleeping on your sister's couch, drinking cheap beer, smoking dorals. no more pall mall no more sake. do you feel me attempting to breach the 90 miles 56 years between us to go back when arms were to short to wrap around you loovasluvju the only one who showed me love unconditional. This guilt that I now sit idle watching you die, waiting for your last groan and testament to a misery handed to you at the turn of every hour. Great Uncle, my soul is screaming for you, i fight this deep hell... you taught me strength is solitude. Babuska, will you teach me a new recipe? Babuska, show me the trick to Waus' favorite dinner. Show me one last time how to hold the verge of death in a dish and serve it to myself.
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