She tests the flesh with knobbed fingers

short nails that don’t prick the skin

underneath like fat, giving slightly

Skin speckled like a lizard

Green bombed with yellow, orange

with red pink at the head

Blade as long as her pinky

The edge smooth grey

The handle wood with flat gold eyes

She dives the blade in

from the head to the bottom

Light orange water

And again she enters

Skinning with swift long strokes

till the meaty petals curl

She balances a block of flesh

on the flat of the blade

slides it between her lips

Her teeth slick the furry heart

tease the flesh and water

from the promise of more

She sucks the blade

dips her fingers into her mouth

Looks at Grandpa with flat copper eyes.

Grandpa tells me

Don’t run with the scissors

it’ll stab your leg

Grandpa warns me

Don’t lick the yogurt tinfoil

it’ll slice your tongue

Grandpa scolds me

Don’t lean back on two legs

the chair’ll fall.

I pick up the knife

and eat like Grandma.

Published in Poets.org