I

They would remember the taste
as bitter, sharp as the swallow of staples.
Though at the time
juice slithered down their chins,
collected in droplets
stippled with seeds. Each piece of fruit
prisoned between teeth
was ginger-spiced, like possibility.
God’s footsteps led to stumbled shuffling,
seeds and discarded hollows of skins
cupped with dust. And tears to make parallel
the lines of sweetness
spilling from the corners of lips.
No, no, it was an accident.
Let us go back. Please?

II

She sat on a chair, made sure
there was no room for him.
He crouched on the floor, took her deadened hand,
made heavy with regret. She stared ahead
as he promised all he couldn’t, rang the air with apologies.
His promises were like bells calling from a distance.
He said he’d pay, buy her ice-cream afterwards.
Anything she wanted. She couldn’t look at him
though she tried to hold him when he cried.
An awkward collision of limbs, him cradling her head,
looking for hope to animate her face.
Her wrists stiff, bound as they were by snakes.

III

At home, she avoids the mirror,
its gaze that makes her feel so old.
A face to make paper blush
the colour of a peach.
She tries not to look at her hands,
tender still with the memories of a lover.
Soon to be calloused
with the toil of the harvest,
days spent clutching the basin,
the cold hard edge of the toilet seat.
No, no, it was an accident.
Let us go back. Please?