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.
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