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mortar & pestle

by A. Benétt

call us sinner / ámõósú / call us whore / anything but a child of god and watch us smile / watch us dance in the living room / six arms reaching from three ringed bodies / uncontained and howling at the moon / hips grounded in mortar and pestle and there is no space for your lack of acceptance / the air of our dwelling is infused with copal and sweat / the salt of tears we cried last night for years we lost as tethered and you can call us fragile / ruined / call us our mother’s dead name and watch us legion / watch us pound our soles into rich soil / six heels crusted with earth digging in sacrifice / for life blood and abundance

A. Benét is an emerging poet from California who is pursuing her B.A. in English. She is a lover of literature with a weakness for coffee and the color of burnt clay. Her work is forthcoming in The Acorn Review, and you can, sometimes, find her on Twitter @benetthewriter

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