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Poetry | April 2018

Girl Child

By Michelle S. Ramadan

The Amazons raised their daughters warlike:
muscles sculpted marble, a singular breast

burnt at puberty for bow handling.
Of course, all women are raised for war.

I kept my baby close on my breast
(left, right, left) every two hours.

Her small gums tore my nipples.
She drank both milk and blood,

the war in her already.

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