i was once mistaken for sunlight – soon i will be nothing again – i now dream only – of green compost bins – & the first law of thermodynamics – when he first picked me – the plantation was still green – chloroplast woven ionic sets – he called me yellow – & my lime green pulp – autophagy throwup – rigor mortis yellow – scoffed – but he picked me – & he picked me – & home materialised into a humid woven basket – under a table – & i thought i was wanted – i thought i was wanted – when he kept picking me up – more careless every time – when my epicarp took the shape of his tips – i oozed like goo out of a swamp monster’s mouth – i begged for something(more/less) – & i did not say stop – i did not say stop – & he said i was just rotting – & i said okay – i said okay – & i waited for the bite – i waited – the natural progression of all life is ruin – of all life is a post natal stomach swell – his mouth was a garble of anthracnose – like a tree that wouldn’t bear child this season – i was wanted – & i thought i was wanted – and when he didn’t eat me – i did not question – how mumma taught me – inside her – that all love ends in consumption – & all love is the pursuit of death – when he picked me for the last time – to put me under the other fruits – that he did not eat – i did not say – all men do is lie – & i did not cry – & when a nail cut my tendon – i did not think of how close i was to being eaten – i thought instead of – exocarp – mesocarp – endocarp – & i was wanted – i was wanted – i was once mistaken for sunlight- but it’s winter now – it’s winter now.

Ziqr Peehu is grieving, yearning and hoping. They write poems like Rube Goldberg machines: unnecessarily complicated but weirdly satisfying. Their works have appeared in places like Scholastic, Rattle, Trampset among others.