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Angelica Recierdo
March 2024
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Angelica is a writer and editor providing medical news and content to America's clinicians. She received her B.S. in Nursing from Northeastern University and her M.S. in Narrative Medicine from Columbia University. When she's not keeping a pulse on healthcare she's reading her poetry at open mics and salsa dancing through San Francisco.



A cruel, vendetta-fueled spasm takes me from my sleep 

and makes a home in my belly, 

a moat of blood pooling hours before my knowledge.


“What do you want?” I ask any god 

between shallow, defeated breaths. 


“To know what you are made of.”



If not for train horns blaring, 

a sleepy street would know how I sound

when your diligent mouth is on my breast. 


The last train to San Francisco comes 

and goes and Monday morning is 

no longer a threat when I am whining 

on your lap, arching with the shadows. 


Dessert in my mouth, we cannot wait 

to swallow before sharing this opening. 

What’s yours I want to be mine. 

Your nose roams in search of my sweet. 


We part just to call minutes later and 

let our breaths jerk and tumble, 

the way our legs would after you fill me 

with the hardest wish you’ve ever had.

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