![]() ![]() No pillow or shade for me but I did not complain. Or a shade for their eyes when the desert sun soared too high as if to abandon the horizon forever. But I knew they were around, their arms a warm pillow for their sons and daughters on cold nights. She would have been (425), a creature forever hidden like all the other mothers whom I hardly saw. I was his only daughter and I did not have a mother. I was the daughter of number 425 living in tent 425, where there was no 425b or c or d. I was in my blue dress, also rationed like the number and letter inscribed just beneath my right ear: 425a in blue ink. I’d just had dinner when the stars went out. The sun and wind rippled the blue cloth and we thought, water! And drank up the thought. Our halfway homes between heaven and earth, the blue box said, so we should be grateful. Our tents were also blue like water and rationed. We were warned on the box, a tiny blue square that kept us hoping, kept us on the line. ![]() ![]() All must know darkness and light must be rationed equally. When the sky was taught a lesson: no one should shine or outshine anyone. ![]()
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