Love Song for Grapefruit

[wpaudio url=”/audio/4_9/Manning_Grapefruit.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

I’ve conquered the punishment of soap
in my mouth, sweet followed by bitter,
puckering. Grapefruit soap makes
me want to eat the fruit. So I do.

In my mouth, sweet followed by bitter,
the sliced open sun startles
me. I want to eat the fruit. So I do
stick my fingers in, lick off the juice.

The sliced open sun startles
like the first time I saw under my skin,
stuck my fingers in, licked off the juice.
I suck in my breath, gurgle, cackle,

like the first time I saw under my skin
puckering. Grapefruit soap makes
me suck in my breath, gurgle, cackle.
I’ve conquered the punishment of soap.

I’m Confused about My Chest

[wpaudio url=”/audio/4_9/Manning_Chest.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

I saw a robin in the park today.
It hopped and skipped and made

me wish my breasts were orange
as well—it seemed like fun, until

I thought about how my dad
used to say when I was young,

“Eat your greens. They’ll give you
hair on your chest.” And I would eat

them up and hope for hair
like his to grow on me. Then

only one breast grew; the other came
from surgery at sixteen, and the hair

my dad had promised arrived just
in time for hot flashes—this was not

what I had in mind. Now, looking
in the mirror before my shower,

I think about that robin in the park and make
my peace: Paleness suits you, breasts.

Let’s wish for nothing—or,
for once, to stay the same.