RIPENING
by Jennah Figueroa
To ripen—to sweeten—is a form of decay.
Rotting plum on the shelf of the fridge,
skin wrinkled, sweet flesh,
sitting in your own juice.
Beautiful rotting fruit:
some days revolting, others tempting.
Each time the door opens, squeaking hinges
like a siren song, you call to be squeezed;
to be kneaded in palm, cold and wet and sticky.
Beautiful rotting plum staining selfish fingers
that dig between fibers looking for your pit
to keep in my pocket, a token of passion—of victory.
Rotting fruit on the shelf of the fridge,
washed in 40-watt light. Next time
I will try to get to you sooner, but
then I would miss out on how sweet you become
when you spend some time by yourself.