Summer 2023 • Vol. XLV No. 1 PoetryJune 14, 2023 |

Lychee Harvest

The Kenyon Review · "Lychee Harvest" by Jordan Nakamura Calves marked with mud-scrape and grass we crash through Kalihi Valley under downpour. You’d taken my shirt to fashion a basket for the rough-skinned fruit we gathered from the leaves. You want me to say, Open your mouth. Place the bead, milk glass, in my fingers to your lips, but not yet. I want to peel the guard from the flesh, split it down to its dark seed, but not yet. We spill our red spoil across the table. Let’s pull the stems, you say. Let me start a bath, I say. We possess the wealth of heated water and corner-store candles. Some made-to-touch fires. A small heaven of them. Dusk outside is draped in small rivers. Thirst grown large as the parch of droughted riverbeds and flooding in pursuit. We open a window to misbehaving winds. Burning pikake and lily of the valley oils blend with the storm’s odor. Barred from this shower is the

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Jordan Nakamura is a writer and photographer born and raised on Oahu, Hawaii. His work and interviews have appeared in New England Review, Gulf Coast, The Adroit Journal, Tupelo Quarterly, Zócalo Public Square, and elsewhere. He lives in South Central Los Angeles.

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