Chelsea WagenaarFor Anna
I came to grapefruits late in life.
Their juiced heft in the hand,
Their juiced heft in the hand,
the exact weight and girth
of a small head one has waited
of a small head one has waited
a long time to see. This morning
I slice one in half for us
I slice one in half for us
even as I hear you twist in your sheets,
your cheek pillow-printed no doubt,
your cheek pillow-printed no doubt,
my son who came to me
late in life. My incisions are surgical,
late in life. My incisions are surgical,
practiced. There it is, the placental
pink inside, the perfect, evenly
pink inside, the perfect, evenly
spoked wheel I turn onto
a porcelain plate. Sugar for you,
a porcelain plate. Sugar for you,
salt for me. And why is it grapefruits
are always compared to tumors?—
are always compared to tumors?—
it was swollen the size of a grapefruit,
right there on her fallopian tubes,
right there on her fallopian tubes,
as though the body were a reluctant
vine, a branch in need of pluck.
vine, a branch in need of pluck.
You are in the doorway, shirt
carefully misbuttoned, five years
carefully misbuttoned, five years
burgeoning into six. I know
what you will say. It is what you say
what you will say. It is what you say
first every morning. My love
for you is halved on the table,
for you is halved on the table,
granulated bitter and sweet. You know
I know what you will say. But still
I know what you will say. But still
we wait in the momentary quiet
for the hungry words to come.
for the hungry words to come.