Reading the Obituaries by Marilyn L. Taylor
Now the Barbaras have begun to die, trailing their older sisters to the grave, the Helens, Margies, Nans—who said goodbye just days ago, it seems, taking their leave a step or two behind the hooded girls who bloomed and withered with the century— the Dorotheas, Eleanors and Pearls now swaying on the edge of memory. Soon, soon, the scythe will sweep for Jeanne and Angela, Patricia and Diane— pause, and return for Karen and Christine while Susan spends a sleepless night again. Ah, Debra, how can you be growing old? Jennifer, Michelle, your hands are cold.
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