I shivered as I watched my grey self glide down the hill, placid in her white georgette dress. All the rage had been smothered out of her. Gathering her long skirt with the day’s shadows, all her dreams set to fire long ago. She cooked and cleaned and demurred to her man, bringing girlchild after girlchild into this world who cooked and cleaned and demurred to her man. Next there was a baby in her belly, and a baby on her arm, while her Rastaman squirmed in bed with another woman. To be the humbled wife of a Rastaman. Ordinary and unselfed. My voice and vices not my own. This was the future my
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