Stone Fruit

June 15, 2009

posted by Caroline Picard

A friend of mine read this poem on the porch last night and I thought it would be worth transposing here.


Stone Fruit


Mark Yakich

You’re not supposed to think of the ballerina’s

big toe being crushed inside her silk slipper.

Sure, the clitoris is amazing: it has no onus

but for pleasure. An exponential function.

The divine offices without peers. Soldiers trudging,

artillery pumping, buildings collapsing, boats

bumping ashore. But for the woman who has never had

an orgasm, its an abstract atrocity. A plastic haw.

Orgasm this, orgasm that. She says:

The bananas are brown. The grapes are spoiled.

The produce was put in the wrong bag.

She says: maybe I can fake being upset.

You get a bad plum, maybe it’s an act of God.


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