after Marjorie Barnard
At first cut
it collapses like a slashed tire.
This translucent flesh
a fecundity that defies politeness,
My sharp lap
and angled fingers intrude.
Shaped like a young woman’s breast, she said.
This fat and pulpy spill.
I am recovering, I too.
My mind as transparent and tender as new skin
the blazing autumn afternoons
where light falls thick and desperate,
my vegetable garden glowing gold
I always thought this a female fruit,
revelled in the lush tautology.
Seeds crack between my teeth.
The pit is pronged and angular.
this portends a mild winter.