Girl Eating Physalis
Today her tomorrow is orange,
not ribbed segmental hours
and pips, but this amber shine
that doesn’t know its beauty,
a Cinderella shedding torn
petticoats to add its magic
to a scoop of pub ice cream.
Her finger and thumb twizzle its stem
as if this fruit could spin her choices:
Chinese lanterns, cape gooseberries,
golden strawberries, ground cherries.
Each name occupies a different taste.
She bites firmly, chews things over,
Breaks to her first orange smile.
If you have any comments on this poem, Helen Kay would
be pleased to hear from you.