Plate of Plums
Annika Le

Grandpa said to

plant a plum pit and

it will split the soil to

sprout high

Each evening, she

cracks the blemished skin,

gnaws away at yellow meat,

and suckles the seed

with her tongue

till every pocket clears of flesh

and it lays white like

human bone in her palm

With a toss, she whispers wishes

and the ferns tuck the pit away

into their pockets

In early mornings, she checks

her plot of land as though

it’s a wristwatch

but all that’s new are

dabs of dew on grass blades

from the sleeptalk of clouds.