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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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