The skin is easy
a crooked
line, top to bottom,
smiling at us, the
juice bubbling
up
—soft and supple and sweet and
oh, so green
—and you are sad because there are two halves and all would be even
except spoons slice asymmetrical
and one of us takes more or the other gives less
and so the world
would divide us but
not today,
because the sun is
out
and we are laughing as I try
to spring the pit
free, scraping around it with the spoon:
scrape, scrape,
scrape.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem