Kyoko Uchida

The white peaches announce themselves on the kitchen counter,  quick scent flinting alight the worm-eaten dawn,  the clean-edged note almost mineral, so unlike  the vague, pulpy yellow of girlhood:   the backyard peach tree bowed down with too much  sun-bruised fruit, wasped and sickly soft, until  the August before fifth grade a branch split  and […]