Last night my thoughts puckered like peas
in a dream, overripe and plucked too late.
This morning in the kitchen, they’re fruitflies
multiplying like gunfire.
Only diligence will take them out.
Help me here.
How many mailboxes do you count lining the roadside?
And on whose head does the apple totter?
Sarah Sloat grew up in New Jersey, where she attended university. Since then, she’s lived in China, Kansas, Italy and Germany, where she now works for a news agency. Sarah’s poems have appeared in Pebble Lake Review, West Branch and Rock Salt Plum, among other publications. Her favorite poets include Fernando Pessoa and Norman Dubie.