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December 28, 2007:

Broken china,
smashed photo frames,
half-eaten food,
torn, stained clothes,
cigarette lighters,
a twisted antique mirror,
a heavy brass skull, thrown and dented and dead.

At the back of the closet,
hiding in her secret place,
an old cat, frail, bony, clever,
safe, waiting to forgive her humans
with love and soft whiskers
the moment the shouting stops.

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