The whole woman
by Gail
Juice is the desired extraction
from ripe fruit, the bottled commodity
that bumps in trucks all night,
is chilled in supermarket displays.
I am not to be squeezed and drunk;
I am not here to quench thirst alone;
hold the whole pear in your palm, eat slowly,
replant the seeds in the ploughed bed.
I will be ripe and mouth-filling,
sweet fruit falling from the tree
in my own time.
