Submission Eleven

"What gives me hope? Moments that put all else at a standstill." ~Robyn Bateman


Pleasures of Fruit, Sleep, and Summer


On an August afternoon,

my pudge-puckered hands

reached for dark, oval plums

that drooped from a tree outside.


The plums had bruised slowly

over time, as twisting branches

pressed up against the wood

slats of the house.


The few that I could reach

burst tart on my teeth, and dribbled

salmon pink juice

down my arms.


Behind the woodshed,

Jasper licked his golden jowls

patiently, eyeing the pulp

as it trickled through the cracks


of my palm. “Good Dog,” I’d said,

slurping bruised plum gut.

For an afternoon,

beneath the plum tree’s green-leafed shade,


we slept with bellies to soil;

me with mouth stained black and sweet,

and he with snout burrowed

close enough to dream of the soft-


ball body of a plum in his maw.

~Robyn Bateman