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but my father cut the peach with two clean strokes,

each slice falling onto the cutting board at the same moment

like four wasting moons

THE GIRL WITH TWO SKINS

I

On your knees between reen shoots,

beside a sack of seed, a silver can, a white spade,

a ball is tucked into the bustle of your skirt:

like a pearl

but not a pearl

You pulled it up

round as a beet from between the mint and the beans

where I had sunk it in the earth,

as though I fished

for loailled coelacanth