Happy Jack's on Our Saturday Morning No, she could barely speak about peaches --suns in baskets on tables--on the table inside. She'd seen them! short-furred, late-light-colored, edible creatures, she told me, hanging like apples in Eden. "And even the light was like I'm dreaming!" A dream like a movie: impatient--so clear- alarm, so cool you could see machines helped make it. A long picture of hanging peaches, a pair of sun-hot juice-cool peaches with human faces under green-blue leaves, from which, one said aloud to the other, hung not far but separately: "So. Even we are afraid just now," as if their bees had been suddenly killed. And "Yes," said the other, "but the fear may end." Said the first: "Will it end soon?" The air was white and orchard-blue with smoke. She saw them in closeup. "But wait," one said, "I loved the knife that pushed, pushed harder, against my self--sharp, on edge, cold as metallic water." Last night it broke the silence: "It cut my brown, sweet bruise out!" speaking wildly. "It cut my too sweet heart right out." --Elizabeth Macklin

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