Number 52
The women will rise
Eyes lifted and jaws set
They breathe slowly and expand
From a crouch
They will brush the grass
Fingers over pebbles and aphids
Tense the muscles of their thighs
And spring upward
In their flight are screams
Dredged from the marrow of their bones
Now carried by vast lungs
The women have ancient tusks
In them is genesis
And in their wide arms the world
They will rise, the women
With the specters of fallen sisters
They will rise together
And will not be put asunder
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