I ate a slice of orange today

that tasted like Grandma’s wine made from a magic potion of flowers—maybe marigolds and tulips, dandelions and chrysanthemums, or for all I know a ten-ton toad’s nose, sloth snot, egrets’ regrets. I tasted love, years lived by those vines fermenting fruits fat beneath the sun, grapes squished between tall women’s toes sprouting stained yellow petals saturated juicy red and looking like bloody floral sandals.

By Molly Gaudry
65 words

Molly Gaudry co-edits
Twelve Stories, solo-edits Willows Wept Review and Willows Wept Press, and she is a recent addition to the Keyhole Magazine editorial team. She blogs at http://greencitynews.blogspot.com.

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