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My mother in law raised seven men.
She toiled in the kitchen, warmed
potatoes in huge portions
dashed with salt and self-doubt.

My mother married two men.
The first one fled at day-
he gave her a daughter who ran away
with a man no one has met.

My grandmother disliked men. Especially her own—
A man who was in love with fifty women,
his shaft failed at the end. On his deathbed,
he asked for the hand of the first woman he failed.

My mother in law is waiting
for the leaves to turn green, for the oven to beep,
for a son to sleep. My mother takes a call
from a daughter she never sees.
For long, she embraced a thought

all loves shall hurt. Both women does so in silence,

as my grandmother did
when she felt on her palm
a man´s last heartbeat.