Artichoke
Sour green vegetables
we sit sulkily
waiting to be steamed in our own
bile
hidden behind leafy petals
immovable
the Artichokes that we are slowly rot
in their own solitude
falling inwards into ourselves
introspecting
building mucus around our centres
constructing layers
peeling each other’s leaves off
methodically
we try to extricate the mayo
from under our cuticles
they say the ugliest fruits are the juiciest
they say you have to remove
the jagged edges
to reach the tender hearts.
Emilie Connes
(Lancaster)
(Lancaster)
Page(s) 11
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