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Writing Group
Nectarines, a glass of punch,
a bowl of cherries, sliced
melon, ink seeds on the table, next
to the red radiator, the silver
iron on the windowsill, words
creep in through stems, stones, and rinds.
How the teeth hold on to the pit,
how the tongue finds intimacy in
little depressions of smooth surfaces,
how it plays with cherry stems,
while the milk moon slowly rises in a bowl of ink.
How the melon rind curves around the emptiness of
what has been consumed.
How the eye dances on white, punctuated with
what is written in wind;
their concave surfaces echo
the sound of ripe melon, reflect
a nectarine sunset for an ocean
an ocean for a sky
the flavour, not of the cherry, but of the picking
the holding in the eye
the filling up to the rim.
Only then do I pop them in the mouth
and chew them down to their hard places.
~ Composed by Daniela Elza
Previously published in Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine
Summer 2005
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