Grapefruit
After halving the pink-hued fruit
using skinny knife to cut around wedges
and taking up appointed spoon
to slip slivers into mouth,
you look ahead, anticipating
largest pieces, what they’ll feel like
on your tongue barely touching teeth
on the way to the throat.
And when done, rushing as usual,
there’s your main squeeze, ravaged half
wrung into a cup brought to the lips
like devotion near the end of
some holy ceremony, blood-and-body portion
when we kneel and partake
and look floorward, the world
sweet, bitter, and wanting.
Carl Little is the author of "Ocean Drinker: New & Selected Poems." His second collection, "Blanket of the Night," with a cover by Abby Shahn, will be out later this year from Deerbrook Editions. His poetry has appeared most recently in The Lowell Review, Maine Arts Journal and Maine Sunday Telegram. He lives and writes on Mount Desert Island.