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Cycladic Female Figure at the Getty Villa And even with the fires raging I still hold myself close Here in this dark room I am mystery Tattooed goddess Ornament Burial prize Stolen from a grave Laid with my master Made him my slave The child in my belly Never born, always just Beneath these arms Round like my breasts My smooth face painted Origins in azurite and cinnabar This wind reminds me of home Isle where I was laid to rest The pieces of me kept whole For centuries I have wished To be shattered on the pyramid at Keros One shoulder here one leg there Oh, the ruin of that place No strangers leering through glass They wonder at my former use I was what I am: Reminder Elizabeth Spenst Elizabeth Spenst is a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and critic with work appearing in Rattle, On the Seawall, the Tuskegee Review, Paste Magazine, ARTS.BLACK, and forthcoming in the Inquisitive Eater. She's received institutional support for her research and writing from Yale University, the New School, Cave Canem, and Brooklyn Poets. You can find her work at elizabethspenst.com.
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November 2025
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