Amanda Richards


Kiwi

I slice the kiwi
splitting the thin, rough
skin and find my mother's
green eyes in its firm, vivid flesh.

Small seeds
encircle the pale core.
Dark flecks cluster 
around her pupils.

The round, porous fruit
shines, as her eyes do
with tears.



Berrying in Litchfield

Early morning:
raspberries hang
low on bushes
tangled with damp
broken timbers
of the fallen barn.
Wet grass lies
crushed where a bear
sprawled to sleep.

Afternoon
finds berries
falling
into pots.
Stained fingers
reach for
ruddy gleams
among
the leaves.

Evening:
bears return
to feed with
clever tongues
then trample 
the grasses
for their
heavy sleep.

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