before the television. The house is quiet now. She knits, rises to put the kettle on, watches a cowboy’s killing, reads the local Births and Deaths, and falls asleep at ‘Growing stock-piles of war-heads’. A world that threatens worse ills fades. She dreams of life spent in the one house: suffers again poverty, sickness, abandonment, a child’s death, a brother’s brain melting to madness. Seventy years of common trouble; the kettle sings. At midnight she says her silly prayers, And takes her teeth…
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