Genevieve’s Week 8: Animus



She dreams of men.
They are not beautiful men;
chipped teeth and chewed lips,
greased hair and rumpled clothes.
They sit by her side and talk
and she traces the outline of their face
and she says, I have loved you,
over and over again until they smile.
They whisper in her ear: Curandera,
you wear berry juice for lipstick 
and you wash naked in the river.
Open your mouth and sing joy from
the center of your omphalos, for
you need no mirrors. Look. 
You are whole. The men crawl
inside her  belly and when she wakes
they are there, singing a melody
in harmony with hers. She is whole.

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