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*This is part of an ongoing series of poetry by Cecilia Ruvinsky*


When I disassociate,

tiny hands string coral around my neck,

and they run their shadows over my hills and volcanoes,

until I evaporate into mist.


My piano-fingered hands reach out and beg

for something but they do not know what,

and all they receive is my own blood,

smeared in a cross on my chest,

red as oleander.


I throw myself off the Suez Canal,

and sacre bleu,

there goes all I thought I wanted,

and all I see is rebirth.


Rebirth tastes like plastic.


Cecilia Ruvinsky

Muhlenberg '22

Hi, I'm Ceci, an aspiring poet and short story writer!! Follow me on @qeqilia on Instagram
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