Deshea Surratt

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Head buried beneath the blankets, her hand blindly roots around the tray. Bypassing the sandwich and banana, she settles on the granola bar.   I breathe a sigh of relief because we’re making progress. “Thank you.”  I’m halfway to the door when something strikes the back of my head.  I don’t even have to look to know it was the granola bar. 
The Words
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