Two Apricots

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In Kadıköy market, their money already

mingled, someone fished for coins

and handed a small few to the grocer; the other

inspected the apricots and kept the one

less beautiful. Each revealed, at their fingertips,

a pink moon. The firmament tasted like

an insatiable kiss. They held each other’s hands—

dirty from money, sticky with juice.

This poem appears in the March 2024 print edition.