Every curse here is cunt:
nde rakore you’re a cunt,
kashi ine smelly cunt,
aña rako guare devil’s cunt.

What if I told you
cunt is the instant red
melon crush, tin spooning,
pink as tongues and lips
from palate to frenulum.
Sun boiled juice cracked
between us and waning
fast, lap cradled,
down the chin.
How you would throw
me out the garden.

I keep quiet, hold
the scooped out shell
of fruit as you collect
the black seeds
in a glass jar.
So sweet
we want to grow this one
next year.

Emily Jaeger is a returned Peace Corps volunteer and backyard organic farmer who dreams in four languages. An MFA candidate at UMASS Boston and Lambda Literary Fellow, she is co-editor and co-founder of the Window Cat Press, a zine for young, emerging artists. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Arc, Broad!, Broadsided, Cecile’s Writers’ Magazine, The Jewish Journal, Soundings East, and Zeek. To learn more, visit her website.

image: Casabianca (detail), M.P. Carver, acrylic on canvas 2013

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