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She lost her uncle last week.

Today she carries her nephew, Miguel, in her arms. He’s so soft, so tiny, so red. She holds him and she feels him nestling within the crook of her elbows. She gazes at his small round face and as the gaze shifts to his pajamas, her heart freezes:

yellow crabs against a grey background.

Nobody hears the hitch in her throat.

crab 2

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Wax. Her first thought when she sees him through the glass. She stares. She’s supposed to pray in her head but her head says “Wax.” A pearl is pressed between his lips and his eyelids is glued shut. He lies, so, so still.

So, so still.