The word: Grapefruit

Kids and I went book shopping late one evening. The rule in a bookstore is that the kids can always buy one book (not so in a toy or a candy store.) The kids took their time selecting, and we ended up getting a few early gifts for their cousins, too. It was quite late by the time we left, and Kalli kindly wrapped them all, beautifully, before closing up shop.

The Stranger: Kalli

The Word: Grapefruit

The poem I wrote:

“Grapefruit in winter”
 
Such a gift
you bring
 
that I cannot
use it all:
 
in burlap bags
shaped
 
like my heart
 
I store it,
food enough
to last a long time. 

The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.

5 comments on “The word: Grapefruit

  1. Unlikely Rescue

    It was late in the runout groove.
    You never expected to hear that voice
    run through your head.
    Even the stylus was done,
    click click clicking for relief.
    She greeted you
    the way a grapefruit greets
    a sleepy tongue…
    all you can do is swallow,
    smile, suck in your gut,
    hope this might be that dream
    you were waiting for.

    You were smooth skinned,
    burning with innocence
    You were seagrass,
    unsure if you belonged
    to beach or ocean
    in that high tide.
    She read your mind again
    “ How do you like the desert?”

  2. The Flow and Spill

    Some carved segments perfect in their skins

    Some fractured by the spoon, some pulped,

    And seeds sliding, never to grow but somehow

    Adding to the flow and spill of life

    As sons become fathers and uncles

    (Or maybe aunts) with time and chance

    Or spill to drink or opium or not,

    Or turn grandfather, while trees that fall

    Compost themselves for trees to come

    If they’re not sliced into a table where the half

    Grapefruits stand in blue bowls beside sharp

    Spoons for guests who carve from the flow

    Of their lives this gentle time

    To break their fast together.

    Paul Woodruff

    12/15/19 The word: Grapefruit

  3. Ants and grapefruit, words and work. . .I feel a poem coming on
    Ode to the IRS April 15

    Rose early last Saturday morning
    sliced sharpened knife through yellow white rind
    round and round,
    carved a spiral
    to the globe of pregnant pink flesh

    Wedges eased from between membranes
    placed one by one atop bed of green

    Juice
    puddled in my palm
    soaked my curved finger lengths
    ran rivulets toward my wrist
    dripped, flowed
    marinating romaine leaves for the afternoon’s salad

    All who ate of the salad exclaimed
    delighted

    Today I put away groceries
    other grapefruit
    cans of tomatoes
    Restock my coffers
    Think about life and work and
    a grapefruit
    sacramenting its juices so readily

    Ants traipse along double lanes
    under my sink—dedicated

    I press them to death with my thumb
    They are dry
    I contemplate the politics of ants

    Earlier today
    through the slot in the thick marble wall of the post office
    I dropped fat white envelopes with three stamps each
    Addressed to The Internal Revenue Service and
    The Idaho State Tax Commission

    With my I.O.U.
    I am grapefruit and ant
    working myself to dry death
    even while exuding luscious juices

  4. Martin Mayland of Cedar Creek

    December 16, 2019 at 11:56 pm Reply

    Be Fruitfilled and Stultified

    A cool drink in a tall glass, thirst quenching, sweet and tart
    And it’s so simple to make, you see, simple alchemy as art.
    Some call this a Greyhound because, maybe, it’s no frills.
    A bus ride to euphoria, an antidote for daily ills.
    It’ll get you where you’re going, arriving just in time,
    Transports of delight from mundane to worlds sublime.
    A glass half-filled with Grapefruit juice. I like Texas Ruby Red.
    Cartoned, canned or freshly squeezed, it matters little in the end.
    Top it off with Vodka, Tito’s Handmade, if you’ve taste
    But any rotgut swill will do when there’s little money you can waste.
    It’s not the ride, is it, after all, to get from hither on to yon?
    No need to be sophisticated. Destination: Oblivion.
    Of course, it is medicinal. Get your Vita C.
    Stave off those colds and viruses and stark reality.
    This late night, I’ve had few. I’m floating up from Earth
    A tranquil warmth enfolding me as I enter realms of mirth.
    I almost never, ever feel this way. Any more, It’s been so long.
    An uncertain feeling niggles, something must be wrong.
    “What is it?” I am asking as I continue what I thunk.
    Just then it dawns upon me that I’m no longer getting drunk.
    There were good reasons for cessation. That I’m one who totals tee.
    Some unpleasant consequences were overwhelming me.
    So, what the hell is it I’m doing, riding this big bus
    With the tall highball in my hand? How did this get to thus?
    Sweet swirling intoxication comingles with my frown
    As I throw the elixir past my gums and set the tumbler down.
    I don’t remember getting here. This isn’t what it seems…
    Just then, the alarm clock’s ringing and I’m emerging from my dreams…
    It’s morning and I’ve sober thoughts emerging from sleep’s haze
    You know I miss euphoria but I’ve reclaimed my days.
    I remember an old adage adjusted with a twist:
    Work, it’s the curse of the drinking class. I have to laugh at this.
    For breakfast, I’ve some Ruby Red sans the alcohol.
    I have reasons for some pride that goweth without the fall.

  5. The Early Days

    Basement apartment/ Let’s paint the wall sky blue
    Hey, that’s my t-shirt/Yeah, it smells like you
    Share our hopes and dreams/ I’ll go anywhere with you
    Share our memories/ I want to pick grapefruit at your granny’s, too.

    Me, swept away: Let’s have our own someday.

    You explain-
    realistically, statistically-speaking,
    we will never have a grapefruit tree.
    It’s just not logical, you see.

    And I, playing dress up, look down to see
    I am not wrapped in a ballgown but just your t-shirt.
    It smells like you so,
    logically, realistically,
    nothing should die inside.

    It aches, there.

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