Kim Welliver

EATING PEARS

They glowed
moon-pale in the dim barn-light

The Fall River house was weighted,
freighted with heat:
a stale dusty scent
of submission, like wool or beeswax,
like vinegar rubbed
into window panes.

The pears were thin-skinned,
lush. I dug my teeth in.

Father, granite-eyed, said
"Lizzie, there is no problem
one can’t crush, if one
but has the will."

Juice streamed, and dripped,
dappled my face and throat.

The house was a flint cinder
beneath the eyelid.
A constant irritant
broken only
by bright flares
of pain.

The bottleflies, blue black noise,
came, drawn
to the sticky-rich spatter.

Carefully, I bathed,
then went in
to find
Father.


Kim reads "Eating Pears":



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Kim confesses: "I've always been fascinated by the Borden Mystery, mainly the minimal 13 minutes in which the murder of Andrew Borden took place, during which time Lizzie claims she was in the barn, eating pears. The dichotomy between the bloody slaughter and the innocuousness of eating pears intrigued me."


KIM WELLIVER has lived in Indiana, California and Utah. A bibliophile and mystery aficionado, much of her work touches on the darker aspects of life.