thirty three degrees

we toss cracked fragments
onto our plate. 

Father taught us to use a hammer.

my sister and I argue
over which pieces 
of the coconut we’ll eat.

scraping our teeth along the
white flesh, we're picking brown
from the spaces between our teeth,

our tongues sled down smooth planes
hoping the flavor of delightful flakes
will linger for a while.

we stare at the eaten pieces
nostalgia fills our goosebumps 
as brown grass permeates
the white our teeth missed

we take turns throwing
our coconut skins into the 
melting pond,

and they float away with the
disappearing ice.