Eating Persimmons
by Jennifer Pons
I am a persimmon eater, says the woman after the man points to the tree and says, suffering is a fruit tree overladen with ripeness. He tries to impress her with what he knows about words and overripe fruit. He is trying to speculate, because the air is overly warm, if she feels warm, too. Nothing suffers more than overripe fruit and me, says the woman as she lifts the fragrant flesh to her teeth, and the man can’t stop squinting at her teeth. Eating the fruit near the man is like eating the man as the fruit—his gaze ever strained on her teeth sinking into the persimmon. He imagines those teeth on his flesh, though soon night will fail them and there may be a moon or not. There may be points of stars to shine through her hair or not. Rotting fruit is a bloody business, he continues, but flesh and seed imply joy (her mouth now full again with a second persimmon). And as she chews, she wonders if the points of stars will shoot from his fingertips as he runs them through her hair, if ever the light comes out. She notices that the air is warm despite the darkness. She says, Blood implies suffering, but also is the oldest story about seed turned flesh. Birth is a bloody business, too. She thinks, in this moment, that she should offer him a bite, but he keeps looking up at the sky. Maybe she can impress him with what she knows of suffering; the heavy night air is all too warm. Without looking at her teeth he says, Joy implies that kisses are a part of making trees grow. Your legs are like the limbs of a tree reaching towards many stars. I want to weave orange blossoms between your thighs. Let me near your mouth. And even though fruit lingers on her breath and it is black as pitch, there is a moon between them. Oddly, she notices that her thighs and breath are warm. All she can smell is the scent of fruit.
About the Author:
Jennifer Pons studied her MFA at the University of Arizona after earning her BA from the University of Montana. Her poems have appeared in Across the Margin, Whale Road Review and EKSTASIS Magazine. She is a high school English teacher in Portland, Oregon. Her manuscript is titled Locusts and Wild Honey.
About Weekly Flash Prose and Poetry:
CutBank Online features one work of flash prose or prose poetry every Monday. Submissions are free and open year-round. Send us your best work of 750 words or less at https://cutbank.submittable.com/submit.
