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The mother is Grief. The daughter is called Fear.
Knot string nine times around the baby’s neck.
Hope for a spell, a prophecy, a cure.
For confinement, each swallows sulfur flowers.
Labor is God’s reward for the sin of Eve,
a mother’s purest grief. The daughter fears
she’ll put the baby in a drawer to sleep.
All night she smoothes her skin with salt, writes
a spell, a prophecy. Here is her cure:
Holy Rose, leaf of Dead Nettle. In this family,
the daughter knows birth demons eat the babies.
The mother grieves, but the daughter’s fear
is the mother will leave her, even now.
She eats snakeroot to keep her mother safe.
What if a spell won’t prophesy a cure?
Hide a lock of the baby’s hair beneath the house.
Force each flower open, tear the magic out.
The mother is Grief. The daughter is called Fear.
She writes, There is no spell or prophecy or cure.
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