folding into green and yellow.
i am fruit
off the vine,
slowly turning
under house light. i am
a pear, an apple, a once
ripe mango.
no longer sweet.
it's where the needle went in.
the pinch
and push of medicine,
the pull
of blood from an opened
stream.
it's a soured patch
upon my arm.
an abstract painting
beneath my sleeve.
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