From The Peaches of New York by U.P. Hedrick
Albany, J.B. Lyon Company, printers, 1917
Courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library
Away from the tropics and into the south
she drives six hours on I-95 to
find some peach stand that will sell her any damned
peaches. The juice pools in the hollow of her
collarbone as one after another she
devours his favorite fruit. Fresh flesh
replaced with piles of pits, the crate rests next
to her waiting for the next grip, next bite, next
seed. All she can do is consume until she
is more peach than person. She parks the car and
heaves every last ounce of him out of her,
relieved by the miracle of limits.