for the friend who can’t unlatch the door yet
or: on the orange rotting in a trader joe’s tote bag
Annotate this: orange bleeding out against white fabric. she can’t bring herself to reach down, loosen its grip. unfist its bared smirk. for days, this fruit sulking, an unwise-tooth, an homage to denial. beneath light sources, always wadded-and-stuck abrasions— lockets overgrown with static, molding in earnest. the ugliest wishbone, this browning orange, or maybe it’s a tangerine. i don’t know. she wants to break into the word ghost & ask for its number. she wants to say home without the earthquake of sour milk ebbing up, night-nursing, evacuation routes. praying downwards, mourning a self-blessed wound. where did we go, and not come back from, to be so beholden to metaphor, and rot? which route did we forget to study? which drop unsounded our capacities to escape? it’s starting to stink.
Sofia (Sof) Sears (they/them) is a writer from Los Angeles. Their work has been featured or is forthcoming in publications such as Diagram, Sonora Review, the LA Times, and others. They’re currently majoring in English and Gender Studies at UPenn. You can find their work at sofsears.com.