Shayna Hodkin

THE PLUMS

the plums were as big and dry as baseballs i waited weeks
for them to ripen all they did was rot     
to relieve my guilt at their compost funeral i said 
look at these atrocities
they were meant to be worm food / i will remember
this summer as the one when my hair
stopped growing / slowly eating a yogurt in the kitchen
haunted by ghosts of rotting plums i check my reflection
in a spoon and whisper to myself
you are a sprouting potato
an untouchable anemic potato rotting
like a baseball plum