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Another poem entitled, "I
Don't Visit My Mother."

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I don't visit my
mother that often.

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Her house is at the
end of the world,

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always cold, even
in Baghdad's summer.

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The last time I visited
her, she did not say much.

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Silence was a stone still
weighing heavily on me.

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Even her neighbors were silent.

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They stared at me, eyes shut.

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The wind murmured something
I could not understand.

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Then the guard at the cemetery
extended his hand and said, may

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she rest in peace.