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a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society

Anita Marie Júlca


girl / Gaza, 2025

hands with protruding veins and thickened joints claw through the rubble

brush concrete debris from a fresh-limbed fawn with periwinkle vignette

light pools in the sunken

 

braided rainbow threads hug her wrists extend to barely budding knuckles

clinging photographs of boy band heartthrobs with sun-bleached corners

overexposed and underdeveloped

 

bodies bloat with the barrel’s hollow as peeping curves swaddle bullets in soft tissue

this red sputters brighter than the stuff you use to scramble to scrub from your underwear

before bleeding was broadcast

 

this red splatters thicker than the blotches of magenta stain from bitten-off cherry bums

you dappled onto cheeks full as bellies, plump and nearly bursting with things to say

evaporating in summer magma

 

did your soles overgrow with enough leather callous to sprint across dried bramble

from clomping around in your mother’s heels? as swiped swatches from her vanity

taught red–cherry and crimson and bloodshed

 

did you learn your strength jamming against your brother’s elbow before school,

for a fragment of shared bathroom mirror, or the great morning race to the shower

before the flow should numb?

 

the autopsy finds hints of candied wax tooth-scraped from lips stuck in classroom daydreams

orphaned tube of watermelon-scented chapstick rolls about settler rapture in twenty years

unspent on kisses goodbye

 

playground children will muse folklore in jump rope rhymes, falls cradled in your cartilage

hear them whisper legends of girls in Gaza, as your ashes awaken myths of pegasus

dead sea grazing


girls in Gaza

“UN figures estimate that nearly 70% of all verified deaths in Gaza have been women and children.” –Aljareeza, November, 2024

 

I am not a scholar, nor an academic of sorts. I do not harbor a Ph.D. nor any kind of Ivy League degree. As of now in my life, I am a girl reading headlines about other girls

 

there are not many girls left in Gaza.

maybe if you

 

they found wallet pictures of boy band members in the rubble.

 

 

does she await pegasus to rescue her

or pray for wonder woman to arrive at her doorstep

 

once i believed in

i do not believe in much anymore

but i believe in girls

girls in Gaza.

 

 

 

 

may you dance.

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Anita Marie Júlca is an emerging Peruvian-American poet and author, and the 2025 Berkeley Youth Poet Laureate. Rooted in Keene, New Hampshire; Queens, New York; and La Roma, Ciudad de México, she writes with an earnest tone and raw imagery on girlhood, sexuality, domestic violence, and cultural geography. Her debut children’s book, Whispers of the Storm: A Tale of Healing (2024), uses poetry and original illustration to help young readers navigate trauma. Anita Marie has performed alongside acclaimed poets such as Dr. Ayodele Nzinga, Aya De Leon, and CordonConcepts, and aims to use poetry to promote radical feminism and an irrevocable empathy for those around us.


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