Repealing the Face of a Fruit
by Sean J Mahoney

Sure I got pricked more than once
Reaching for the fruit whose time
I knew had come for picking and
Juicing but my stomach ached, my
Eyes jiggled it seemed in sockets.

I withdrew my hand and I regained 
My composure and my balance on
The ladder. I took deep breaths. 
Up through the branches and leaves
The sky glowed an alarming blue.

Below me the world I had ascended
From glowed too but with syllables
Of shock and awe. Despair snaked
Around the trunk of the tree, leaving
Behind it leeches and assorted red

Parasites. Despondents shared
Sharp nipples and fingers. Necrotic
Milk dribbled. And Despair arrived
Next to me, begging me to reach
For the fruit once again. Which I 

Found painfully odd. I bade Despair 
Hold the fruit while I descended 
And Despair chuckled. “This is 
Not fruit. Not even knowledge or 
Wealth. This is submission to sad 

Promises; asinine one-liners from 
A spectacle glut rich with nausea.
You will continue to hunger and 
Not know why no matter how much
You consume.” And that tiny truth

Birthed the freedom to again let go.
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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