Tuesday Poem: Tamarillos

Slung on
broiling tin roof,

they witter,
a timpani

while dim slim
light

bleaches them
fleshy,

'dear, you're my sweet'
'dear heart',

we whisper.

small bodies,
we throw them

onto the roof,
sweet-talk

them, recover
those that bloom.

oh, be mine, mine,
oh what heart.



I had a bit of fun writing this in the heatwave. I like thinking about rituals that we create and pass on. This one is about ripening summer fruit.

Do pop over to the TP hub and check out more poetry.