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A quarterly international literary journal

the eleusinian mysteries

/ Poetry /

the problem with daughters is they must also be people & the problem with people is some must also be daughters

but here in this body I have lived only as a loan from the earthrot to which I return

the interest of old men, sharp-toothed babies for whom a breast is a breast is a breast a sign

of anything, a circle circling a target, & if you can arrow you are beloved,

there was a well once with fresh water, it was safe for women to drink down to the bottom,

it was safe for women to admit they knew

there was such a thing as thirst, a first sunset

spinning across the close of the first day

she woke able to stretch her body across the whole

of the bed where once a man taught her that

breaking is its own art. but remaking is too.

amid the soft ochres a woman remembers, she was daughtered to this, one palm lined

with the lie that she’d be the same before &

after, one with the lie that her soul was her own


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