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1913issue6online

97 DECISION ABOUT FEET My great-great-grandmother who I have never met, who may or may not hide inside of a memory of a canvas tent on the Russian steppe my mother mentioned in a sentence once, writes to me from inside my stomach. She tells me to buy sheets, a chair. A pillow. A throw pillow. A comforter. She says to treat myself, to sleep in a bed for once, to get myself a haircut. A massage with hot stones. A facial so they can scrape away my blemishes. I have so many blemishes. Get some slippers, she writes, and a nice lamp with soft light. Get some thick socks for the winter cause it’s gonna be a cold one. Put a rug on the floor cause the floor’s like a jail. Not an entire carpet, just a throw rug. That’s what they call it, a throw rug. Then you can have cold feet when you want them and warm feet when you want them. Jail and no jail right where you want them you decide.

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