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Poetry

than the angel who eclipsed your ordinary life
to see his reflection in the dark
of your eyes.

More strange than when god thumped
in your belly and tugged at your breast, hungry
for earth, for what he had made.

Strange to hear
the command to take and eat of his body
just as he had your own. That in their mouths
you too were dissolving, your blood draining
into thick and useless throats.

Your nourishment drips from his side,
from the mouth that sucked your breast.

A hand flinches toward your chest—a strange
gesture you discover is your own.


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