In Season

By: Rebecca O’Hagan

She lay in a bowl of afternoons

shrinking into herself, skin dulling,

but how long the soul lasts

in the hide of a tough old broad

I couldn’t say;

only burrow in, all claw.

It starts with a sound:

a golden sort of ticking

tears through the sunless noon

in tiny meteors of serum

but the webbing underneath

fights before conceding

at last to sting

and bless the eye,

and now through

the air a drift

of miracle swings: summer

in February whose tart

freshness is almost

salty, flooding

the back of the throat.

In yellow stained fingers

the act is simple:

a body’s neat sections each

bursting with a chance

and singing

through their own juice

into the vault

of the palate, the song

of our suddenly bright insides.

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Rebecca O’Hagan is a writer from Scotland. She is the author of zines Spa Pool, The Best Supermarket in Edinburgh, and Cherry Print.