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by Amy Schmitz

If I could open a tree to decorate
my hair with figs then scarcity
would wrap around shoulders for warmth
and there would be no history of colonies

or if I dreamed of a man with sugar
strapped to his feet and his children
latching oil around their necks squeezing
through half-open doors then
there would be enough to feed everyone
when we finally woke

Once there was a fig that had no tree
and a tree that had no garden
and a garden that had no water
and a water that had no land
and a land that had no people
and a people that had no village
and a village that had no streets
and a street that that no house
and a house that had no kitchen
and a kitchen that had no figs

Partitioned tin
cumin lost on the floor
ants crawl on the cutting board
(they're asking for it)
flour and water nothing alike
fig bits cling
to the only knife

There is more than one way to carve
up the world

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