Shannon Ryan

Fruit Set

Your hands were the size of two
maroon grapes, halved
by the bend of my thumb. Gripping

the slippery pieces, the ache of coulure climbs
as the small berries shatter excessively
from the clusters. We were no longer

a pair of cherries stem-bound to the same tree, cleaved
by time’s hollow mouth, impatient.

They don’t teach you how
a second splits             a seed, 

how a flaw in fusion could untether
you      from humanity, fission

the only option.

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Shannon Ryan is studying visual art and creative writing at Salisbury University. She is the managing editor of The SCARAB. Her poetry is forthcoming in Asterism.