| InterBoard Poetry Competition | |
GRAPEFRUIT
Lisa Prince
(Blueline Poetry Forum)
I have a little serrated spoon
hidden away in my utensil drawer
you have to pick a ripe one
I remember in high school
home economics classes
where they taught us to press
our thumbs into the ends
of fruit to test for ripeness
every boy I’ve dated
has wanted to squeeze my breasts
sometimes when I shower
I touch them myself
trying to understand
their globular form
for breakfast
mine would be nice
you cut them in half
with a serrated knife -- not
the kind with a straight edge
so that you don’t bruise
them -- ironically biting leaves marks
there was a boy who
so taken aback the morning after
when he saw the marks he’d left
he couldn’t believe they’d come
from his mouth
I wanted to ask for more
sometimes I’ll have
both halves of the grapefruit
even though home economics
would say half per person
neatly cut along each segment
so that each piece comes
out by itself
my mother had a mamogram
when she was fifty five
they found a lump the size
of a grape -- there’s a fruit
I don’t like even if radiation
and raisin are very alike
she only has one breast now
I see her touching herself
sometimes when she thinks
that she’s alone or when
she passes the hall mirror
with only one breast she walks
lopsided -- my brother gave her
an orange for her birthday
for the other side, he said
so I eat both halves
with that small serrated spoon
maybe I’ll buy one
for my mother
About the InterBoard Poetry Competition
Archive of IBPC Winners
Next Honorable Mention, August 2005
