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My village’s only common property

is a single pistachio tree

that belongs in a nursing home

but we give her twenty-four-hour care

in the spot in which she has always stood


We live on a diet of thistle stems

and burdock roots

and thus we have all begun

to hallucinate


The children are dead or dying

but we see them playing


A pistachio is a sacrament

The shell His body

the nut His blood




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