Seventeen
my friends click their tongues against their teeth to drum
for a revolution that has come and gone
and which they hope will come again
August
the whole world seems no larger than my belly
the women fan themselves and gossip about who will get married
one pinches my forearm
‘What I would give to have the years
left in this skin’
the first tears I shed for love
have already come and gone
the camellias, burst red pulps
heady, bright
and no longer surprising
August
I sit half-mapped
like a desert province
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