One Week After Dinner with My Rapist 

i am in the grocery store picking nectarines
bagging those whose flesh has just enough give

pressing my thumb into one’s side, i
bust the skin on accident

this reminds me of you, the way you break
things inadvertently, the way you put
opened bodies back on the shelf

this reminds me of a summer when i ate
nothing but hot peaches pulled straight from
the branches of the trees in my yard

i sink my teeth into the fruit and maybe
an employee stares at me, but surely
it reminds me of your mouth, surely, somehow,
you have hidden yourself inside everything

somehow i will never stop finding pieces
of you under my tongue, stuck in between my
teeth like the fibers of this nectarine

i drop the pit into the bag, ready to atone,
ready to pay for what i took

Caris Allen is a student at the University of North Texas pursuing a BA in English. Her work has previously been featured at Austin Film Festival, and in various journals including Dirty Paws Poetry Review, Riggwelter Press, Bone & Ink Press, Pretty Cool Poetry Thing, and The North Texas Review. She loves funky music, British comedy, traveling, and, especially, you.