Article by Eliza Broan Art by Jennifer Martinez
i’d learned to hold you carefully.
there are so many reasons
to expect hidden rot or an
unforgiving tightness in your skin.
even so, i dared to dislodge you
from the bananas and avocados.
your ambered lust jumped at me
from a field of hard green,
a golden lush wafted to my greedy nose;
a readiness too complete to fathom.
i took the greatest care
rinsing this purity in cold water.
i was terrified to sink my teeth,
panicked that your soft skin might suggest
a sour mush of excess time,
betrayed as a ripe facade.
in all fairness,
how could i have known?
but a punctured breach of fear
surrendered a cascading nectared cataclysm.
me, in turn, washed by you.
this generosity only deepened my distrust;
i thought your bountiful integrity would waiver.
i scrutinized your skin,
your flesh
for marks — bruises, stains, hidden mealiness — all
to avoid the bite that would
ruin the perfect nectarine; ruin me.
it didn’t come.
every bite was better than before.
running down the same palm that esteemed it,
the un-reservedness of your fruit
poured over me.
each pore of my being
converged with your sweetness.
i gave you my cautious adoration, knowing that
a covert contusion could come as an assault.
finally, i conceded to a trust
i had never known, accepting that soon,
the pit would be all i had left.
cored experience in hand, dripping,
the moment nearly extinct.
with gluey fingers,
i sat silently, astonished in your
intoxicating evanescence,
only left wishing i trusted your perfection
from the first bite.