stopped in the store, glaring white light
she cries “Mommy! Cherries!” and a moment, a
skip and
I find myself swallowing bile and vomit and 20 some years of
squeamish denial.
One hand in, one round fruit out.
A perfect stem
stretches towards me.
“This one is perfect!” she blurts.
I turn my head so the clenching goes unnoticed.
Inside, in the distance,
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