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I am peeling four pink grapefruit Poem

I am peeling four pink grapefruit Poem By Natasha Sajé

to make sorbet with campari, for a party,
removing the bitter white pith,
but I am also eating so many sweet fleshy globules
that the I who is doing the work
is clearly not the I swallowing the fruit.
Soon there’s no hope of sorbet for six,
only enough for two; one of us
boils the rind and sugar into syrup,
freezes the small mound into dessert.
The self who hops to conclusions
like popcorn, who falls in love on the basis
of a bare arm, the self always
drunk with the pleasure at hand, shares a body
with the woman who has been true to one man,
who even at midnight when the other I wants
only to roll into bed, is reaching for chocolate and
melting and separating, envisioning the faces,
of her guests at the first mouthful of mousse,
dark as the heart of a faithless wife.

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