They cut great slabs of fat off her legs.
One of the pears has a perfect nipple of rot
at the top, and a single thread of weeping
from the stem.
Mary holds the hearts in place so the doctors can stitch them back up.
A baby is born holding her heart in her hand.
‘I’ve probably held a thousand hearts.’
Oh ladies, watering your roses in these hot dry places!
Lucy draws her feet endlessly.

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