Article Text
Poetry and prose
In passing
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The last time I saw my grandmother Po alive,
she wore brown twill slacks, a thin apron,
perfume of water lily, ginger, jasmine.
Now her face is bloated, rounder than I remember.
Hair white at the roots, tips still purple
from her do-it-at-home dye kit.
Tubes removed from her throat; the army of machines …