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Anathema by Maria Rachel Hooley6/4/2023 ![]() I see that some share my labor, scrounging at the edge of the camp, looking for anything to burn. On my way to gather wood for the fires, I see other girls in deer-skin dresses like mine, dresses with uneven hems that form an alternating pattern of fringed v’s. It’s not a home I’d recognize in waking, not considering the buffalo hides stretched taut over smooth wooden poles to form the lodges I walk among. I can still hear the mad gallop of horses amid a winter’s thrall on snow-blanketed plains. I’ve had the same dream for as long as I can remember. Tears stream down my face, and I grab a pillow to wipe them away. Right now, the screaming and the rocking are all that keep me from fleeing into the blue-black night. ![]()
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