ripe

the tomato’s ripe skin blushes bright red
yearning for the rip and shred, the sharp serrated edges,
the teeth of the knife.
the curse of being plain
is worse than the pain caused by the cutting,
and open wounds release the fearful truths
hidden behind its bellybutton.
never again the same,
the tomato is no longer boring, nor filled with the lonely longings
that spilled out on the cutting board.
no birth is a joyride,
but the labour – grotesquely poured out on the floor –
provides the ingredients for a beautiful feast,
at least, so long as you enjoy tomatoes.

© Rylan Skelly, November 2018


About the Author: I have a B.A. in Honours Religious Studies from the University of Waterloo and I love all major world religions – Eastern, Western, or in between. I’m genderqueer, and I’m comfortable with male, neutral, and female pronouns. I’m married to my dear wife Lynn, who is the love of my life, my best friend, and my muse. I think far too much, and often have too many ideas to know what to do with. And I am a doing being, just like you!

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