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Ode to the Spine This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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Line of soldiers steadied upon the marl,
greased in battle scars and tourniquets sowed of hatred,
faces of pale alabaster and cheekbones made of incisors,
my flowering spine blooming from my back.
You are a globe, map of roundness spread across planes,
mewling kitten in the break of day.
You are a battering ram by nightfall, a strongbox
swimming in pools of dew, becoming one with the dirt.
Oh spine, oh dancing body, your hands are cupped
and full of bees, spilling forth into the darkness;
mothers of honey, stand until I crumble, for surely
then there will be no fight within me.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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