Sunday, April 12, 2015
glowing inside with the machinery of blonde seeds. A cool hunk, warts and all. Ground into drinks, into chips, into soda pop. The essence eludes the taster, the holder. Turns bitter and sharp over time, when set in vinegar. Darkens, loosens, softens. Shrinks. Is sliced often. Is ignored and discarded daily. I don't know why: why don't you ask? In the form of a girl, it is shy, pale, barely clothed. She avoids the sun. She likes to lie in the cool mud along the river. She wets her feet and her hair, and wears a large straw hat, when she can.