azeite / olive oil

By Leah Duarte

upturn the ███████
jug ████ my head
mouth open to
███████ all
the luck gone
rancid
amniotic
alchemize me
newborn █████ and
reaching
swipe the bread
███████ the mess
eat until i’m
████

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recipe for red custard

By Leah Duarte

you want a cozinha
the way it looked in the
cobbled-together pieces
of a child’s brain
 
sun shining through the windows
herbs on the sill
 
an old woman without a face
kneading dough with gnarled fingers
teaching you how to shape
your bones to the purpose
 
a pink house with pink
flowers weeping and a
little girl sniffing
under a warm dish towel
teeth tapping the crust
 
instead your grandmotherless hands
instead milk and lemon peel and
nothing that bounces back
soft to the touch
 
shards of cinnamon stick
lodged in your meat
hot angel hair into cold eggs
like you can temper
the lack in you
 
emulsify loneliness and
chill it so it cuts clean
when you slice

---

nursery

By Leah Duarte

dead hand
dead hand
little bird at the door
there isn’t anything to give him
piu piu piu piu

---

dearest

By Leah Duarte

you’re with jesus in the cupboard again
i tell you the witch’s name
my lips to the cracks in the wall
where the ants got in
tugged by the sweet and sulk of you
i pet the strands of hair you feed through
coax the knots out gentle
 
i sprinkle sugar in the lock
i light a match
it smells like your mother’s kitchen
snuffed votives
and the wet candy at the
bottom of her purse
 
my face to the keyhole
your arms splayed out on concrete
the water in my eye
tastes like burnt honey
 
when you go you have to
promise me you’ll leave the
gravedirt loosened
i’ll come barefoot

---

calcium

By Leah Duarte

angel hair scalded in boiling milk
sugar steam licking thin-skinned lids
wait for the custard to thicken
 
sugar crystals dissolving at the roots
hang dripping hair upside down
squeeze ritual all the way to the scalp
 
drain the colour in sections
gravedirt swirling in the pot
baby blonde and new again
 
crouch under the lemon tree
pink smear under your chin
down your belly
pink feet too tender to crack
 
tuck the skimmed-away pieces into the branches
where the blackbirds are nesting

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​Leah Duarte is a Portuguese-Canadian poet. She is a graduate of the University of Toronto’s MA in English program. Her recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Forest Floor: Collected Works Volume 1, The /tƐmz/ Review, untethered magazine, and The Four Faced Liar. Her poetry has received a 2023 Best of the Net nomination, and she was a finalist for the 2025 Mississauga Arts Awards' Emerging Literary Artist category. Recently, she completed her debut poetry collection intertwining Portuguese folklore, religious themes, representations of mental illness, and depictions of girlhood through a speculative lens, funded by the Ontario Arts Council and the Mississauga Arts Council.

Instagram: @ leahlduarte 
Website: http://leahlduarte.wixsite.com/home