green and hooked.
They smile upwards.
whose glassy rounds
- beside the point.
How they pull from the stem
a silent tearing,
I rub a slug-holed leaf between the heels of my palms.
Perpendicular, they apply friction.
I am checking if the plant is not in fact a blackcurrant.
On this one the leaves don’t smell distinctly of anything other than cut green.
a friday, the seventeenth of july, 2020