Pompelmo (rosa)

"pink grapefruit"

Paper cuts itch on my tanned, salty fingers, as coral nectar flows along their pleats. My short nails gash through the soft, juicy skin, making their way instinctively, cutting deep, but not so to reach the treasured core. With no warning, a pungent spritz of fresh, bitter rain jumps to my eyes and I see my sweet old granny reminding me that “Citrus fruits are exceptional: they make your eyes sparkle”. And hers sparkle and shimmer like stars, like galaxies, like the reflection of the sun on a glassy diamond ring, for she ate lemons and squeezed them into her pies every day, and she lived a good, long life, the one of a fearless, courageous, free, woman. I take a bite for her: a candied tango of bitter tang and sweet. Sweet juice pods melt into my mouth as the waves souse my feet and my bare legs stroke the sand, the black and blue brig boat in the horizon sails North, and the sun rays kiss my sweet, fruity, skin.   

Pompelmo (rosa)