Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#papaya
oh, silly gardener when will you concede? azaleas will simply never grow from mere old papaya seeds you blame it on the soil you blame it on the weather now it's drowning in excess water can't you see how much it suffers? i know you love azaleas but please just stop and ponder what you sowed were papaya seeds and they are too a wonder it's not how you tried to prune them or because of your undevotion but what you sowed were papaya seeds growing beautifully in your garden
0
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 3:56 AM UTC
the gardener who only loved azaleas
Bottom heavy, firm to touch, summer flushed round cheeks, pleasantly pitted. Stripped **** swerve curve, mellow flesh deseeded. Cubed, served papaya. Sweet!
0
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 11:47 AM UTC
Papaya
My mother didn't birth me, she said. 'I plucked you from a tree,  a Papaya tree',  she says. 'It rained torrents that Chait* night, a storm raged, tearing apart  all that came its way our hut was blown, everything swept away the tree shuddered, so did the fruits I spent the night clinging to the scarred trunk worried about our next meal,  a wild gale, then, bent the Papaya tree  I latched on to you while your siblings  fell apart. Bursting seedlings over my body.  With all my strength, I plucked you the stem and branches bruised my hands and arms streaks of blood trickled and covered your face you had a tender, pale skin.  Can you feel the scar on your forehead ?  That's where my silver bracelet was lodged.  You weren't ripe, not yet.  Next morning, still trembling, I hid you  in the warmth of the last cloth on my body, thereon you slept in my ***** till the first rain of Baisakh**. Your father, she said,  'had gone seeding the fields'. She said, 'You are the fruit of my labour.'
0
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 7:00 AM UTC
My mother didn't birth me