In June, I ate an apple for the first time in years. I thought about the core in the garbage, the way cutting it free made me imagine blood instead of juice. I thought of how I bobbed for apples once, my lips fruitlessly wet and searching in the water, only to come up empty when I couldn’t breathe. Juice dripping from my chin onto my placemat, I realized there were some things I’d never find—and, if I did, I’d only want them to be gone.
Piece originally published in issue 30 of New Moon Magazine at the University of Iowa (October 2023).
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