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Strangled, burnt offerings harden from delicate, fragrant tangelo blossoms when the rain fails to fall for months, like someone duct-taped little bags around their heads - no way to save themselves. Watering is the giving of life that I gave up on when the kids hit adolescence. Dog poop accumulates in the backyard. Bicycle tires have gone flat with spider webs and dried bougainvillea petals. Mason jars labeled "tangelo marmalade" haunt my kitchen cabinets.
—K. Fischer
