Naked Fruit

Grandmom could peel an apple
in one long thread. I’d watch
the knife flash, turning circles
until the peel dropped
in a perfect coil. Sometimes
with a Macoun or Sweet Delicious,
you taste a whole orchard
in that pale flesh.

I have a plastic hook
for oranges to undress them,
segment by segment, peel
and pith until you pull them
back, part the pieces,
savor the gently tart section
eaten from the top.

Cantaloupe is best scooped
into submission, musk or watermelon
slice pressed between lips and teeth,
so the juice runs back
over your tongue, your throat,
intense like summer. Mama said
don’t swallow the seeds,
or it'll grow in your belly,
and I thought pregnant women
must carry little melons, having
swallowed not spit.

Strawberries are like bitten mouths,
but bananas are just an embarrassment
with the wrong person. I get
self-conscious about my silly
inner thoughts. What if someone
saw right into my head, saw me
thinking about really trying
to make you sweat?