Ripe

Originally published on Rat’s Ass Review

I stand under the arms
of a pear tree
looking up at the biggest
piece of golden
fruit. The grass, curved
with morning dew,
reaches above my ankles,
the fruit swelling
with ripeness above.
I notice the light
reflecting from the faces
of the tree’s clattering
leaves, illuminating
each blade of grass below
as sun-fingers take turns
flicking me through the branches.
I reach up.
Grasp the bulbous fruit.
Pull.
Pull again, pressing
it into my stomach,
the branch straining – the fruit
hard and fierce.
I feel the fibers
break, the pear twisting
from its bough
until, finally, it snaps,
the leaves catching
my black hair as they release
toward the sky.
I hold the prize
to my cheek,
savoring the cool
of its smooth skin.
I put its flesh
to my famished lips
and bite. The juice
drips sticky down my chin.

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