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Lamppost
On a lamppost near Lake Garda,
my mother drew a uterus,
fallopian tubes snaking out, grasping
ovaries with their fingers.
“This is your reproductive system,” she said.
In that Italian tourist town
where a tail of men would always form
behind a woman walking alone,
my uterus was illuminated
like the first letter of a Holy manuscript.
Published in RHINO Poetry
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