God is an Old Pear
LISA BELLAMY
At midnight, I wander barefoot
into the cold kitchen.
My beloved sleeps, but I
stop myself from waking him.
I know I will not rest tonight—
I have been awful. Dawn
to dusk, I had a stone in me,
instead of heart and lungs.
Opening the fridge, I see
a greenish-brown pear.
Cupping it in my hand,
curious if it is still
soft, I kiss its mottled skin.
Lisa Bellamy studies poetry and teaches at The Writers Studio. Her chapbook, Nectar, won The Aurorean chapbook prize. Her work has appeared in TriQuarterly, Southern Review, New Ohio Review, The Southern Review, Hotel Amerika, Massachusetts Review, Cimarron Review, Southampton Review, Chautauqua and PANK, among other publications. Ms Bellamy has received a Pushcart Prize Special Mention and a Fugue poetry prize. She lives in Brooklyn and the Adirondacks.