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The Brute
Mimi Kusch
Narrative Magazine
The Brute
Instead of the ocean, I pocket the moon
of an oyster shell from a dim restaurant
in Barcelona. We drink the dregs
and boast of dead sailors, bitter and salt heavy,
from the shell’s mouth. The sea tastes sweeter
like this, and I forget about the gyres, swirling
like black bulls, islands the size of cities. If I were
Mimi Kusch
Tue, 01/07/2025 - 12:13pm