Peach
Peach pits are poisonous This is not a mistake.
Brenna Twohy.
we eat of life as if a ripened peach.
I wipe my chin, protest that I have had little
of this though on the cracked blue and white
plate only a single slice remains.
look, you nod. can mirrors have intruders?
hair is hoarfrost, face a windfall, hands aftershocks.
the sun is low. there are clouds. shivering begins.
on kitchen china, discarded skin, that last piece.
it is late, you say, for sweetness. crush the kernel.
tell the secret of the seed as you leave me.
head in hands. the pause between seconds.
I open my throat.
plate only a single slice remains.
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