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She picks the perfect one,
almost out of reach, more
tempting than the rest. Wedging
her thumb into the soft stem end, she
twists and cracks the fruit in half,
it's white skin umber at the core.
Stripped of other appetites, she smells,
nuzzles, tongues, sinks her teeth into the flesh,
rotating as she bites until reaching
the womb-shaped heart, convinced that only
a solid piece of fruit understands teeth
that go on biting and biting a whole lifetime.
Copyright © 1999
Ruth Daigon
All Rights Reserved |
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