Performative contemplation


She sits, peeling the pith of her tangerine,

Letting it cascade onto the table before sweeping

In an orderly manner,

The remains.

She creates neat piles of creeping veins, roots of a fruit,

Whitewashed, sticky fingered,

The ball, an orange sun,

Left behind in the palm of her hand.

Gestures characteristic yet distantly performed

She is observed but left, silently,

To her own devices.

Nothing of the skin must remain before the harvest

Can be ingested, pip sized morsel at a time

 – a daily ritual,

Surprisingly time-consuming but understandably, necessary.


By others, she may be misunderstood,

But he comprehends the overpowering


To live in one moment,

One action,

For as long as it is possible.

He watches her place, in agonising slow


The final mouthful

Long fingers left to linger on the tongue before

It is gone

And she is done

With this act of consumption that is also

A contemplation

Of what, he does not know

And probably never will.


Image: Congerdesign via Pixaby

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