birthday wells

— Monique Quintana

Time is the way we measure the opening and closing of mouths, the way our bones settle and make us free bots in rust, the time it takes for a baby to swim laps around warm waters, and pull kelp from their mouths with their fists. Time is how our field of maíz grows taller than the heads of machines. Watching each husk grow like spinal cords in root water, we burn candles for more and more of it.

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