Rind

By Ava Mae

My wandering mind lands on a garden.

A place of plump peaches and peace.

And here I realize,

The rinds of fruit baskets leave much to be desired.

Beyond that flesh lies the tender meat

That is to be taken and tasted and told of its beauty.

And I am content in knowing,

I am the rind.

I am skin sought out to live in a garbage garden.

Gone is the pity placed upon me by this produce.

She is longed for,

She is loved,

I am lost.

Left to the dirt and damned dumpsters.

Her sweet songs sing bellies starved to full.

Her sweet songs sing bellies starved to full.

A gift I cannot give.

I am a girl.

While she is a god.

As Persephone to the pomegranate’s pearls,

Pomona’s abundant apples.

She is a symbol of so much pleasure and peace.

While I am only purpose.

Plant me to parent her.

Pick and part me

To behold her beauty.

It does not hurt, it heals.

To know beyond my bark

I am beauty.

I’ve made and mothered more words than I can speak.

And to know that is what lies behind these teeth.

That heals.

Helping harvest the fragrant fruit within me, too.