I'm sitting with my mother's music box.
It's not big, barely fitting in the palm of my hand,
but I'm sitting with my mother's music box.
It plays the song her father sang to her and
I remember buying it for her, knowing-knowing
that she would cry when she heard it.
And now I cry when I hear it.
Winding it up and listening to it play,
hiccuping as I hiccup.
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