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Jayne Pupek's Writings

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    In the market, Mama buys stale bread and brown eggs. She buys cabbages as twisted as a man’s fist. Red radishes the size of a doll’s heart.    I follow Mama as she weaves her way between the vegetable stands. If I stay close enough, and keep my arms to my sides, maybe I can disappear behind the dark curtains of her coat. Like a girl on a stage, I pretend my...