I looked at the small
wrinkled turd-like ball.
“Wah Mui. Dried Plum,” she said
holding out her gift, palm up.
Warily I took
and searched the crevices
for some portion that might appeal
to my nine-year-old eyes.
“Nibble it first,” baited offer,
and I knew
she had a secret buried
in her small rough fruit.
I couldn't refuse
or I'd be
a wimp imp child in this new
concrete jungle heat.
Showing only
a small bit of trepidation,
not enough for another
nine-year-old to see,
I nibbled an oh-so-small edge...
Shivers up my spine
from this salty ball of turpentine!
Tongue held, I swallowed
her dark surprise
and passed.
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2 comments:
I read this before, didn't I? I love it. It's shivery -- the image of eating the turd...how revolting and courageous or nervy, etc. You did it! Great moment to capture.
I've read this a few different times and go back and forth on the use of "turd." I love all of the imagery of this piece, but that one word takes me out of the poem--then I'll think to myself that there is a nice element of rawness and surprise in that. Beautiful--the piece reads like a memory.
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