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.
December 13, 2019 at 5:16 pm
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?”
December 16, 2019 at 1:14 pm
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
December 16, 2019 at 3:27 pm
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
December 16, 2019 at 11:56 pm
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.
December 17, 2019 at 8:46 pm
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.