Squashed Fat Poem by Jenny Kalahar
Squashed Fat
Like a blobfish without soulful eyes
more orange than white, this pumpkin
takes over my garden
its ridges uneven
looking like a gut released from jeans and belt
to relax on dirt at the end of a day
but this pumpkin waits or fears
or has not been warned at all
that knives will slice it open
spilling seeds and orange innards,
a wet mess that seeps like blood into the soil,
hacked flesh chopped into giant bowls
carted off for pies and breads
once fully dead,
and we feel nothing of the horror of it all
this autumnal sacrificial rite
we feel the horror of it not at all
Interesting poem with clever choice of words for a seemingly regular Fall activity - autumnal sacrificial rite! Congratulations!
Enjoyed reading this delightful poem I now feel like a pumpkin scone. Though cutting pumpkin is not joyous at all.
hacked flesh chopped into giant bowls carted off for pies and breads once fully dead, and we feel nothing of the horror of it all really a great poem. tony
Horror! ! Fully dead. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 11:05:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Congratulations on poem of the day! A very different piece of writing. Now many will remember this in October and hesitate to start carving!
Thanks, Kim! It seems an odd choice for PotD in February! - Jenny