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Oh, How You Love Me


Every night, like clockwork,

boiling water

carefully bottled

and brought to my cold feet,

hiding under soft crisp blanket

Warmth running through my soles to soul

Never a night I am not devoted

For this reminder,

that you still love me

The words “I am proud of you” were rare

Sealed away for exceptional occasions.

I worked so hard

just for a taste of this modest pledge

Then I realised,

your love language was contrary

Rainbow platters of fruit brought into my room

sliced into petite identical shapes

Never missing a day.

Your consistency never failed,

You made sure I knew I was loved

The calluses on your parched hands

The sore of your legs, back, arms, feet, neck

The dust on your lifeless uniform

Its monotony evaporating your brilliant glow

Though, never a complaint

The sacrifice of your laborious body

For the fruits of your children

Good girls birthed into an affinity with studies

Wishful hope and yearning

that at least we

will breathe an easy life

in promising Australia.

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Giovanni groggily sat up in his wheelchair. He had fallen asleep again. He gripped the inner wheel as he pushed himself along the sterile hallways. The hallways were so familiar they appeared even in


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