Her teeth are hammers; her fingers,

rusty nails. See how she polishes them


How punctured the stomach

sputters & sighs. Clapping! Stamping!


In foot-felt stammer, hand-forced screams,

those with no stomach for the task


prophesy hunger’s end. Hauling stones

to the well, setting the mountain


in place. Give her time…

those who will not see her say


to go away. And so? Escargot, chile con carne,

the tree that gave its limbs


is already ash. Falling away, receding,

nostalgic for their tasks, flame


hungers for air, water

subsides in its mother tongue


Their bastard offspring

inherit the earth. Her chilled scurvied bones


drag behind them a slate gray sky



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