A Tuesday During March
by Chloe Hensler
Tomato pulp runs
down my chin,
And the salt I used to season it
stings the cut on my lip.
I think I want another tattoo.
I think I want to kiss a girl.
I think I
want another tomato, honestly.
I squeeze a Cherry morsel
between my molars–
juice squishes everywhere–
but it creates a
splattered constellation around the tattoo
on my knee.
The seeds stick to my Heirloom-rosied
skin–
A kneecap nursery.
I could be a Better Boy
or an Early Girl.
Maybe a Beefsteak Butch.
I bite into a big round not-apple.
And I wonder if
the thawing ground
and buried
earthworms
have any answers for me
at all.