Improvised Altars

I cracked the olive pit between my molars— bitter pod, black shrine. The sea came through my teeth, settled brine, at the root. They said do not name the god, so I lit her symbol with hyssop oil and lemon peel, dragged it across my tongue like a net. The temple was inside me, sealed in salt. Each time I wept, I baptized what I could not forgive.