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| Dream of the MotherWendy WisnerIn the dream, a man touches me. His fingers sink into my hipbone, then across my belly, still broken where it stretched to cloak a child. The touch was real, but when I wake, my husband is gone, and the baby is snoring beside me, arm limp across my other hip. Who touched me? All morning I feel his hand cold and living against my skin.  Wendy Wisner Read Bio Author Discusses Poems | |
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