our first nominee, from issue 10.1:
In Eastern Medicine
milk is an extension
of blood which we suckle
with the tiny gulping mouth of heart. We covet
iron rich leaves, crushed
roses. We pull up carrots
like teabags, steeped in earth,
tilt back our heads
to eat the rain.
We want to be fortified with summer—
hummingbirds drunk on fuchsia,
breezes cleansed by pinebay—until our breasts ache
chlorophyll and sediment
of every stolen season.