Ripe, New Beginnings Zahra DeShaw we were picking raspberries in the garden some of them would squish between my fingers we all got stung cause the bee traps were there although a sting wasn’t the end of the world the sun went down i ran out to go see the last glimpse of it it was still warm and dewy my face glowing with old light cut them fresh peaches we bought them from a stand on the side of the road ate them right off the cutting board placed the dirty dishes gently in the dishwasher –a new experience used to leave them lying around the house but they told me to do better now that I’m around here. i remember being small and my long braids and his warm hugs. i only miss him when i think about it i try not to dwell it’s all about adaptation, grandpa says this isn’t a sad poem. i lick off my sticky hands. my city boy told me don’t fall for this small town.
American Literary Magazine | 132
