Stone Fruit

8/29/2025

By Ellie HoovsPublished about a year ago • 1 min read

They plucked me from my branches

before I was yet ripe,

tempted by my velveteen softness,

skin that blushed delicately,

and freckled in the July sun.

They knew the fruit of me

to be tender, sweet, and

full of flowing nectar

that made even the bees green with envy.

They dreamt of slicing me,

cobblering me, jamming me up

in faceted glass jars,

but they forgot my heart of stone,

and they bit down fiercely,

now they can only smile

without teeth

Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.

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