What we’ve become after
the sweet fruit lost first blush, left to
rot at the jar base (glass house, open
world) darkened and heady with invisible
gases, decomposition breathing hot.
Sour mash, newly mixed, strained twice,
thrice until all particles (reminders of
previous life) disappear. Now,
just a taste, thick and turned,
will remind us.
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About The Author
Erin Gautsche lives in West Philadelphia where she is completing her Masters degree in 20th Century Poetics, textuality, and fiction at the University of Pennsylvania. She is delighted to be the Program Coordinator at the Kelly Writers House.
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