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      GETTING MY MOTHER ICE
      
      Nothing lasts long
      in this heat
      except the dark
      of waiting.  At
      2 am or 3 or
      4 I lead her
      like a child
      with a night
      mare to the
      bathroom across
      the hall.  If I
      don't get the
      wash cloth
      right, not too
      wet, or hot
      or soapy, she
      will refuse
      demerol, lie
      moaning, "I
      can't."  It
      seems those 
      words are
      my words