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All posts by Sharon Olds

From the Archive: “35/10,” by Sharon Olds

As my skin shows / its dry pitting, she opens like a small / pale flower on the tip of a cactus; / as my last chances to bear a child / are falling through my body, the duds among them, / her full purse of eggs, gold and / firm as hard-boiled yolks, is about / to snap its clasp.