Blog 29: Pear Still Life

Small and compact,

A santa-shaped lump

Pockmarked and bruising

You are ready, the stall girl says,

To be bitten into and eaten.

Or fridge stored till I can

Cleanly slice into the core

Looping off the stalk

Shaving your scarred yellow skin

You will be crescent moons

Multiplied to four

the size of a small organ

blood veins suffusing it

the crease of an arm’s fold

the close up wrinkle of a knuckle

you flinch in my fingertips

 

 

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