Crushed Plums

My neighbor's plum tree hangs over his fence and drops half of the crop to spoil on the sidewalk.



A few days ago I accidentally stomped on one of the plums while walking the dog. It's a wonder that I didn't slip and fall. Instead, juice squished out of the fruit, smearing against the pavement and making the bottom of my flip-flop momentarily sticky.



I don't know why small broken things are so significant to me. Perhaps I relate to them--I have a history of being broken and feeling small. It's what I look for in a man: I want to be my tiniest self and feel safe in his arms. Yes, my desires are very cliche, which isn't necessarily a fault, but nevertheless I am ashamed.

I've eaten some of these plums. They're sweet and juicy in a bland way--no candy tartness. Too ripe.