Jennifer Flummerfelt

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I imagined the carpet hanging, like the sail of a ship, from two wooden masts, and my grandma slowly making each knot. It would take as long as she was alive, I thought. I realized at that moment I would never see her again. For me she would forever be a mythic weaver in the basement of an ancient house in Ardestan.
Everything Sad Is Untrue (a true story)
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