Kiwi

Liquid spills into my palm from this kiwifruit in the sunroom. It is silly, how overjoyed I am by its responsiveness to my touch. Cut straight down the middle, fleshy veins and seeds through the centre, spoon finds skin. I try to grab onto these unfamiliar parts of me, but in my hands is a berry and every time I find my edge, my body stops me.

so I just sit

I just eat this kiwifruit in the sun.

I don’t recognise myself here. God, I miss her. or them or him, who knows anymore.

I keep trying to grab onto something sturdy inside me, but it all slips out of my grasp and this kiwi liquid drips further down my wrist.

it feels dangerous, to hold onto this berry, to feel the euphoria of summer and seedling success, when I know nothing tangible except that I love the taste of this. That I am shocked there is still feeling inside me when my tongue hits finger.

Is it possible, to wake up to this flavour and want to savour it and that be enough to make me into something solid? the kiwi is bruised with my finger marks and it doesn’t ask why.

The sun’s in my eyes, I squint. i use my thumb to tell me where to bite next. I could eat the fur but I like the kind of fruit that can plate itself up and that feels like a silly but important detail to remember about myself.

I fiddle with the sticker and I try to feel every finger that’s touched it first. That’s why you’re supposed to wash produce before you buy it, but then I’d lose them and that feel’s like too great a risk. I wonder about this kiwi from seedling to me and I hope others have to.

The green gets under my nail and I am delighted to have just a little more of it. Just for a second, I have been marked by it too. That feels essential, i’m not sure why; how embarrassing.

I really tried to make this slow but when you taste alive it feels fundamental to have as much of it inside yourself as you can. for however long.

the kiwi collapses in on itself, just liquid on the plate, me in the sunroom.

Photo by Dmytro G on Unsplash