Small stone, Vol. 2, #22

Cold like a bullet, it rolls between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, that tiny jagged crown where the stem once was pressing a rough circle into my palate. It is so ripely firm it will not burst until I break it with my teeth. Then, oh! the tang and natural sugars, that succulent gritty pulp, the skin spreading flat to skin my mouth, that small explosion of rainwater, the taste of shadows.

2 thoughts on “Small stone, Vol. 2, #22

  1. I have a love-hate relationship with the blueberry, which is why I have been writing recently about Japanese beetles, I suppose…

    Marie Marshall

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