This withered circle
in my hand,
rubbery, red, and
curled in upon itself
defies my eye,
belies its taste.
I nibble, taking a taste
along the outer lip
surprised at the
explosion of flavor,
upon my palate.
This fruit,
never eaten while
ripe and young,
held its flavor
through the shriveling,
wrinkling, drying,
and intensified,
as time made flavor stronger,
just for this last taste
before oblivion in my
stomach's grave.

Lindsey Milon 1998

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