you’ll need three measuring cups, two teaspoons sugar, strong dark rum, an old car battery; hook jumper cables to a whole heart of palm, add enough salt to debride the rift of galaxies which would otherwise bleed out on forgotten shores. lasso a nebula; pull until you can sever organs, one for each cup: lungs, liver, spleen. you won’t need an appendix of your hurts. pour out sugar, rum—seasoned knowledge is bittersweet.
Maria S. Picone (she/her/hers) often writes about social justice and identity. Her writing has been published in Kissing Dynamite, Ligeia, and Q/A Poetry. She received an MFA in fiction from Goddard College and holds degrees in philosophy and political science. Her website is mariaspicone.com, her Twitter @mspicone.