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Blue veined hands pressed the beads
into my own. Babusia traced 
the sign of the cross in the air.
Aged eyes flashed and rested, there,
upon the form of the girl who stood
idly browsing the booth beside.
I felt a chill to spite the light
of the sun upon my face.
What in St. Michael’s market place
possessed grandmother to give this gift?
The young woman beside me seemed
indifferent and then she looked 
into my eyes. I felt blood drain.
Do you know who I am
and have you seen what I have done?

My face turned pale and she was gone.