Pitaya
Pinky-red or yellow. Not pretty
but unexpected. The man
at the market cuts
through the soft, thick peel
with a sharp knife
and practiced skill. Toma.
He offers me a slice of almost
quivering, succulent flesh.
Juice drips from my hands
down my forearms into my sleeves.
From now on I'll cut deep
until I lay bare the sweetness.
Wide Open
Empowered with sowing out life
the gods watch its chaotic dispersion.
I see a murmuration of dandelion seeds
tumbling in the afternoon breeze.
The world's smallest flowering plant
is transported by cyclonic storms,
has even been found in melted hailstones.
This morning I aimed a small piece
of paper at the trash only to follow its
erratic flight over the garage roof.
German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives and works in Lima, Peru. Author of two novels and a poetry collection (TANGENTS), her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in many major poetry reviews.
I especially like the unexpectedness of the second poem. Both pieces excellent, of course!
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