There are no peaches in the grocery store.
by and published in Edition Six of Pomegranate
Anyway, it’s the wrong time of year. We’re caught in the holly now, fucking endless jingle bells and streams of berries on everybody’s door, enough to make me turn my locks and post a note on the door. No room in the inn, wise men go home. I dig boxes of Christmas ornaments, break them neatly into disaster, pile it up and draw the light inside the spheres, my shoplifted talent, rote exercise, figuring out the careening particles I could pray to, if I felt such a need anymore. A mess and cut fingers, spines of paint flakes embedded in the print. I do a lot of cleaning.
Noren Bonner
Noren Bonner is a carpetbagger in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. She will soon graduate from Hollins University with a degree in Creative Writing and a sincere affection for the many surprises women’s institutions spring on the unsuspecting. This is her first publication.