I can never sleep through anything anymore - by Veronica Habashy

L ig h t i s C omi n g P as t t he L e aves Outside My Window, and It Is E arl y I n t h e D a y by Spencer Vernier I am putting on my clothes again; They were yours, too. Everything has since been misplaced— My frame forces itself downstairs, Out the chipped-paint door, Onto the patchwork street, And you are nowhere near. Summer declines in the rearview. Still, I think I see you in the hammock Sometimes, and I remember: I could not tell where your Body ended and mine began, Soft kisses ringing Through my ears as your friends Came out onto the deck.

Mom leaves a new batch Of Costco plums atop the Kitchen counter while we Distract ourselves With apples and pears.

art | Michelle Zhang

COSTCO PLUMS by William Zhuang

The following days we spend Waiting for flesh to soften And bruises to settle, Turning verdant tartness Into promising shades.

I yearn to take a generous bite Into one squishy and plump, The kind where juice pulses Out from peeling skin leaving Sticky fingers behind;

Before suckling my way Thoroughly across all ten, Catching every drop of Sweet blood condensed before Washing off with water.

Weeks of summer are measured Between ripening and devouring, Soon it shall come time To face the feathery weight Of another empty box.

Someday I’d like to teach my tongue Pink buds bulging like corals, To dance in a ripe fruit’s absence As though its offer still stands To send me upon sugary heavens.