Farm Fresh by Jules Archer


They lock eyes in the parking lot of the farmer’s market. Or it was more like she locked eyes with his tattoo sleeve. On his muscular forearm, a golden yellow sun rises above mountains made from fat stacks of books. A cluster of inky black crows arc across his bicep. He drives a Lexus and she a bike, but she is willing to forsake the environment in the name of maybe-this-might-be true love. He waits near the gate. Their agreement unspoken, their names unsaid, she hurries to meet him. The French market basket she has brought dangles on her slender arm. When she brushes past, she feels the cup of his hand against the small of her back as he follows her into the stall of organic and artisan vendors. Dino kale, farm fresh eggs, strawberry jam all ripe for the picking.


Jules lives in Arizona. She likes to smell old books and drink red wine. Her chapbook ALL THE GHOSTS WE’VE ALWAYS HAD is forthcoming from Thirty West Publishing. Find her at: or @julesjustwrite.

Image: Emmy Smith