My Father Tells My Mother Not to Eat Papaya While She’s Pregnant
& Also She Should Abort Me
Kiss cousin to the quince
& story of my life:
a fruit that’s rot before it’s ripe.
Clothe it in yesterday’s
paper like a butcher’s sack.
The skin should fuzz a little,
& if it dimples,
even better.
Bruising is normal.
I had forgotten
what lies inside:
the eyes of flies or
the eggs of a toad.
It doesn’t take a scalpel, you know,
just a scoop, a scrape.
Great.
Do you ever feel guilty? Why? I’m not
the father, he said.
Her mouth so shut it’s golden.
Don’t put any sugar on it. Don’t.
Because ever since you said this thing
makes our kitchen smell
like baby shit,
I can’t smell anything else.
***
Photograph of Benjamin Garcia by Elizabeth Lindsey Rogers.
