Apple Blossom

by Katarina Boudreaux

A lie,
a worm in an apple.

You, the worm
squiggling about
in frantic search of
an exit.

Me, the apple
rounding out,
hardening my mash
to trap you in
your wiggling ways.

Pulp and juice slam
together madly
in a conductor-less
concerted effort
to hold together, to
shore up your devious
worm tunnels.

My apple blossom
fails with a withering
cry.

For a worm must dig,
and an apple be eaten,
and the core –
the backbone
around which all is
built and torn –
must be discarded
and forgotten
for the process to begin
anew.

I must blossom into
sweetness again
and rid myself of
your wormage.

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