Put This Book Down

Cariño, you’ve never lived my war—
            a glass of fresh water in the ocean.
Everything is mine
            on loan: the leaves I’ve combed out of my hands.
I want to mold what I cannot return to,
            let me say
palm, coconuts on palms, water. Let me say
            I know how to unsheathe husks to shut my thirst.

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