Avocado
by Jessica Lee McMillan
I'd just jam a knife in those babies
then salt and dice the flesh around bruises.
before the bossa nova days
I'd dance stone-faced
to Nine Inch Nails in a tight-limbed sea
of elbows. now I crowd-surf Costco,
hunting the big ones with small pits.
in Brazil, they are best
enjoyed with sprinkled sugar
and a spritz of lemon.
so exquisite, you'll bring your hand
to your lips for a chef's kiss.
now I look for something soft
in the diminishing sweet.
aim to taste more sunsets
than midnights. knife down,
tongue makes way for more fat
to savour against the stone,
smooth as the eyes curving round
Sugarloaf Mountain to the snug
of Rio, as creamy as João Gilberto’s
Portuguese in the cochlear.
which brings this back to me:
the buttery flesh with a heart
rounding off. becoming the give
of a ripe fruit in open palm.
I dream for that ratio
of flesh-to-pit. a stone married
to a soft shell humming in gentle shadow.
a sugarloaf monolith lapped by sea.
I'm bossa nova and swimming
in Guantabara Bay where sunset
always brings some sugar.
then salt and dice the flesh around bruises.
before the bossa nova days
I'd dance stone-faced
to Nine Inch Nails in a tight-limbed sea
of elbows. now I crowd-surf Costco,
hunting the big ones with small pits.
in Brazil, they are best
enjoyed with sprinkled sugar
and a spritz of lemon.
so exquisite, you'll bring your hand
to your lips for a chef's kiss.
now I look for something soft
in the diminishing sweet.
aim to taste more sunsets
than midnights. knife down,
tongue makes way for more fat
to savour against the stone,
smooth as the eyes curving round
Sugarloaf Mountain to the snug
of Rio, as creamy as João Gilberto’s
Portuguese in the cochlear.
which brings this back to me:
the buttery flesh with a heart
rounding off. becoming the give
of a ripe fruit in open palm.
I dream for that ratio
of flesh-to-pit. a stone married
to a soft shell humming in gentle shadow.
a sugarloaf monolith lapped by sea.
I'm bossa nova and swimming
in Guantabara Bay where sunset
always brings some sugar.
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Jessica Lee McMillan (she/her) is a poet and essayist with work appearing in over 30 publications including The Humber Literary Review, Pinhole Poetry, Rogue Agent Journal, SORTES, and Short Édition. She lives in Metro Vancouver with her little family, large dog and shelves of books and records. jessicaleemcmillan.com
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