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.