Reading over old writing. Perhaps, this is how I begin to write again…
I cut in half the grapefruit, grieving,
pierce its skin, prepare it for my spoon
remember our long conversation—ode
to grapefruit—on our way to work:
you, on your grandfather’s knee, tasting
pink sweeter than white, its bitterness
a cure for appetite.
that day, in a library full of air and light,
I pieced together a story of my
place. a pilgrim, writing
across the street from where you were
grieving, now, I cut in half
the grapefruit we bought together.
drinking juice before eating flesh.
everywhere its sweetness touches me
and I remember how
to eat this perfect fruit.