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by Sarah Ellen On the stoop, The sky is glazed with clouds and there are No stars As usual. Cockroaches scuttle by in anticipation Of a feast. Feet tucked up under dress, Preparations are made for the first Incision Into the pulpy rind of an ugli fruit. The name seems inappropriate for such a mysterious, Beguiling citrus. Gnarled exterior, Textures and hues give way to creamy Yellow symmetrical sections. Bitter when chewed, the membranes contain A thousand Tawny droplets of tangy Sweet flesh. Extracted juice runs down off Chin, Fingers and arms. Enjoyably sticky, a memory Resurfaces: Once very small, seated On the stoop With a garbage bag bib, I ate tomatoes Like apples. Whole. |
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