Caricamento in corso...

Fiesta Melons

In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey—carts full
Of innumerable melons,
Ovals and balls,
Bright green and thumpable
Laced over with stripes
Of turtle—dark green.
Chooose an egg—shape, a world—shape,
Bowl one homeward to taste
In the whitehot noon:
Cream—smooth honeydews,
Pink—pulped whoppers,
Bump—rinded cantaloupes
With orange cores.
Each wedge wears a studding
Of blanched seeds or black seeds
To strew like confetti
Under the feet of
This market of melon—eating
Piaciuto o affrontato da...
Altre opere di Sylvia Plath...