by Katherine Vondy

she was exotic
smelled like citrus
when he stood by her
late evenings
on the subway
always the third car
from the front
always breathing in
alien lemon blossoms, the sweetness
of a place he could not be
but which hovered about her
like timeless minutes

at one PM
she retrieves her lunch
from the refrigerator
in the staff lounge
eats in her cubicle
always the same thing
the loneliness
always eating
last night's leftovers, along with
the oranges that were four for a dollar
at her local grocery
and whose scent would not leave her body


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