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Stoned fruit
by Elena Macdonald
Thin-skinned, heavy heart. Easily
bruised, must be turned with care
to ripen optimally. Delicate conditions,
delicate flesh. Wash & indulge, pierce
into sweet, soft skin. I eat the nectarine,
imagine how a lover could consume me: gushing &
I am learning to let myself be messy.
Let coffee stains hit my white button-down,
let flecks of soy sauce splash onto me. To be
loved is to be changed, runs through me
when I think about mess. I dog-ear pages, I dirty
every kitchen towel I own. I take
my nectarine over the kitchen sink,
juice dripping down my arms. I let it run into me.