"Apple"
She plucked the hearty fruit from the tree
Succulent in its breadth
A bright winter’s taste of bitter bark
I shall not love today
She tasted the irony
Fresh on her lips
She bit the core of massacre
A black seed entrenched in her jaw
A bright cacophony of quills
Glued gently to the peel
She tasted the sweet poison
And held the fruit to her breast
The last drops of juice peeling her yellow skin
Stealing away the hearth and home
Krystyna Kouri
Toronto, Ontario
krystynakouri@hotmail.com
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