I check my expiration date between
the gaps in my teeth. Discovery. It is
today. There’s no mistaking the curves
of the numbers printed there. The year
of my departure. Instead of curling up
inside the folds of my skirt, I take the screens
out of all my windows. Let the air in.
Today is warm, the sun is the bright yolk
of yesterday. Hatched. Punctured by
the sharp wings of a jet, it runs out,
spills over onto the hills, turns everything
to gold.
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