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.

 

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