as i peel the ice cold papaya my mother assigned me to do
i could only think of how similar it is
to you
the skin has been slightly bruised, enough to show that it's ripe
peel by peel, slowly undressed
constantly slipping through my numb hands
i finally cut it to into bite sized pieces
slowly removing it's obnoxious seeds
i tremble as i hold the knife,
oh so carefully, afraid of getting cut
i squeeze freshly cut lime
to give it a little more taste, ready to be served
i just wished it wasn't so
cold
Never thought the experience of cleaning and eating papayas can be sad and intense like that
ReplyDeleteVery nice written poem by the way