Gina Abelkop


Brandish rounded cowries
as currency to my mutation

If kind, we throw copper, addition
to the taste lining my swelled mouth

All this goes simpering into
the bedroom Mine was first

cockatiel pink then wooded
green and Edwardian stripes

The difficulty, though, stays
in the parlor We had none

we had none So instead flicked
our lily wrists flicked our wrists

But the light made it easier
on us We divided our hands

neatly We clutched persimmons
There was light enough

I remember reluctant gratitude
for your hip which glistened

Was it the water? Did
the water finally do you in?

Gina Abelkop lives in Seattle, WA where edits Finery, a journal of feminist literature and art. Her first collaborative book, Intentions Still Artifact, is due out this fall.

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