Happy Jack's on Our Saturday Morning
June 1, 1999
Jun 1, 1999
1 Min read time
No, she could barely speak about peaches
--suns in baskets on tables--on the
table inside. She'd seen them!
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."
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June 01, 1999
1 Min read time