Still Life with Avocados by Katryn Conlin Preface Beginning with a blank page and a vacant mind, Closing my eyes, writing from the wrists out, Fingertips tapping the first odd thing, one sharp image appears: An avocado. Poem Six in the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. Six green ovoids, knobbly to the touch, just giving way when pressed. Ready and ripe, having arrived In the fullness of time. (Too soon: brilliant and green but tough and tasteless. Too late: mushy and rank, unworthy of eating.) Slice one down to the stone inside, Twist to expose the emerald interior, Whack the pit with a knife, Give it a turn and pop it loose. Scrape with a spoon, mash with a fork, Juice of a lime, sprinkle of salt, Eat with a chip. Don’t hesitate. Five to go, Eat them all before it’s too late. What have we learned? Seize the avocados! Life is short, the grave is long. The trash can awaits An overripe fruit. Page 5
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