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by Anna Ruiz

it’s because someone once called me “darling”
and the tip of the word slides down my breast
like a rogue tongue,
I am condemned to remember
how sweet the aftertaste
of what can never be forgiven
for I know the fruit
and it is good

it’s because the light hits my window just so
in the early morning
and now the dahlias bloom,
head as large as any man’s

I am a fissure of earth,
nothing escapes my light

Copyright © 2009 by Anna Ruiz

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