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Illustrations by Charlotte Rica

Cherenkov

Each blueberry broke its thin shell 

and bled, turning the whole pancake sick. 

I tossed it, tried again, facing the window

With an egg-blue frame that revealed 

The sea silently breaking and the boys 

Tossing a navy object, squirming in the air like a fish. 

I called them boys though we were the same

age. In the private sphere I was a woman; 

In public, a girl. Meaning I was 

Both trusted and instructed to make breakfast. 

I held the bowl with both hands 

And poured the dough into the pan. 

Blue floor, blue fan, blue air around the blue

Walls with the blue lesion showing 

The blue sea and sky—the entire room 

Covered in expectations for me 

Like the light of radiation whose hue 

Eclipses everything, even its own name.

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