THE CATCH NEWSLETTER

MARCH 2022

Welcome to Talon Review’s March 2022 edition of The Catch newsletter! This month’s feature is a video and a flash fiction piece by Eldred Moye, followed by an announcement of the Talon Review Open Mic in collaboration with the Wainwright Scholarship Awards for Creative Writing.

The Orange Tree that Grew from the Dog

By Eldred Moye

Original Transcription

The orange tree that grew from the dog’s burial mound loomed over them, blanketing our bodies with shade and citrus. He told her before, in passing, that a dog’s hearts could sprout flora when buried in the right climate, that there was no fruit sweeter than one that grew from a dog. Through the grief of burying Daphne, who died just the morning before, she had hoped for a pear tree. 

“The first orange picked from the tree should be the sweetest”, he told her, plucking one of the large fruits from the lowest hanging branch. 

She watched him dissect the orange, hand cupped around it, nails digging into the skin, palms colored in carnelian red and flame. She saw how he bit into it, how the juice ran down his chin, disappearing into the tangles of his beard, how his teeth released each bulb of pulp from its carpal. He reached his free hand to grab another, letting the branch snap back from his pull. He placed the heavy fruit in her hands to cradle. It was warm in my palms, probably tired from the Florida heat. 

Her fingers trailed the circumference of the orange. She could have sworn the fruit had a pulse the way she examined it. Her thumb nail pierced the surface and she started to pull back the skin to reveal the soft flesh. She caught the first spritz of citrus. It was uplifting like Daphne, she thought. The first bite was delicate, teeth barely scraping the surface. She plucked the strings of the fruit, snapping them out from its insides. She submerged herself into the orange. It was sweeter than any fruit I’d had before, vibrant, honey-thick. She remembered how Daphne ate.

TALON REVIEW OPEN MIC