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Sport 26: Autumn 2001
Cactus
Cactus
These are no cacti for the windowsill,
they are green and ten feet tall,
their plate-sized leaves pin-cushioned,
their fruit—swollen eggs turned yellow.
I have seen her eat and I go to try myself.
I grasp the fruit and hack it from the plant.
The prickles are small and puncture my skin,
I do not dare to bring them near my tongue.
The next time I watch how she selects a softer plant,
how gently she holds the cactus, slices it from the stem
then slits it open with two neat strokes along its skin.
She feeds me first an orange fruit then one that is a purple red.
Cactus marmalade would perhaps be tasty,
with the prickles safely removed one by one.
Cactus wine is said to be sweet and smooth.
But with her I can drink directly of this heady fruit.