Stone Fruit City
by Morgan Ridgway
I leave myself out to crisp, my soft
tender insides in the pit of your plum
voice cracking open the afternoon sun.
In this country you are a scar left blooming,
a chili coated mango. I am your blueback
herring swimming down your summertime
current loving only like we know how. Fleshy
and velvet and peach. Your double dutch hips
light in that jawn bouncing down the street
polishing the sun in your mouth. You told
me I could be somebody, a body full
of nectarine thirsts bright in the evening.
Tell me stories about the boys down
the block kissing asphalt and copper.
How we are half-ripe and honied, the flash
of a corner sign, heated and beckoning
your apricot groove. I lay at your feet,
and you twist each hair into memory.
I deliver you my every hunger and with
each limb glistening, I flood for you.
Morgan Ridgway is a queer Black/Nanticoke Lenni-Lenape writer, dancer, and historian from Philadelphia, PA. They are currently completing a PhD in history thinking about gathering, care, and joy. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in CP Quarterly, Horse Egg Literary, Indigo Literary Journal, among others. They tweet @morgan_ridgway