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I was best friends with Sabah the whole long summer; I admired her handwriting, the way she smiled into the summer evening, her voice, melted butter.

The way her chin shone under a buttercup.

Everyone let Sabah go first in a long hot summer queue.

The way she always looked fancy, the way she said 'Fandango', and plucked her bango; her big purple bangle banged at her wrist; her face lit by the angle poise lamp in her room, her hair all a tangle, damp from the summer heat, Sabah's eyes sparkled all summer.

But when the summer was gone and the winter came, in walked Big Heather Murphy.

Sabah turned her lovely head towards her. I nearly died.

Summer holidays burn with lies.

Jackie Kay is a contributor to Penguin Modern Poets, vol 8

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