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i.m. Jeanette ‘Jan’ Jane

At some point, you must’ve given birth to them:
inflated balloons the way you once did me.

You must have taken strips of torn newspaper,
marinated them in the water and glue.

You must’ve helped me mummify tightened skin;
sculpt the death masks we would colour back to life.

And we must have waited for the hardening,
readied paint for our expressionless faces.

We must’ve done all this, I remember it –
I just forget why we made so little else.