limelight (Sofie Wise)

the lime was stuck in your glass 

that first hot day of spring even 

though functionally it was not

working, this lime, with its exposed 

pulp, rugged rind, translucent insides,

a facsimile for the way you were speak-

ing, sucking down your gin and bubbly as 

the fruit floated stagnant in the

middle of your liquids, acquainted

with borders in the way limes tend

to be, always getting their skin sliced, 

bodies piled into plastic containers,

carcasses dumped into the same four 

cocktail recipes, peering out half-alive 

through bar glasses that are just scratched

enough to shroud every possibility 

from view, not enough that those 

unknowing might think anything

except huh, the world looks a bit 

fuzzy, and you were looking out 

just the same trying to escape an

enclosure as subtle as that of your tonic 

talking about wanting a life that allows 

you to move freely, saying things like

i’m not like you, when it was so obvious 

to me that the citrus in your cup with its 

sour sacs and drowning flesh wanted

the same, to burst out 

from its vessel and yell, 

I am a FRUIT.


Favorite Drink: Extra dirty vodka martini


Sofie Wise lives in Brooklyn. Her work is published / forthcoming in Hobart, Words & Sports, and Handwritten & Co. 


imageClaire C. Wood