Guthli

*August 11, 2010*

 

Cupping in my hand
I’d press
Its taut skin to my nose
Trying to feel its insides
Through my palm
And wrap my fingers around the green
Yellow and red encroaching
In patches
And pick up its breath
And inhale its migration
Its journey
And feel around for bruises
For internal rotting
Now surfacing
And maiming delicate skin
In dark contagion
I’d slide the slick blade
In contours
Trying to preserve
As much fruit as possible
Dripping turmeric exposed in my hand
I’d shift
Cut large segments to the bone
Feeling the grinding resistance
And rough sawing
As I’d get too close