July 2018
I don’t think coherently about anything until I have picked up a Lamy fountain pen and let the ink glide across an unlined page in my Rhodia notepad. My family, poetry, my long-running workshop, and my standard poodle are the passions of my life. My latest book, Gravity: New and Selected Poems is now a reality; I plan to travel with it this year, and hope to meet many V-V poets along the way. More at: www.donnahilbert.com
Avocado
Avocado, she wanted,
giving way at the end,
end yet un-dreamt
at the bend of mid-winter.
Avocado, she wanted
that odd creamy fruit,
fruit unheard of by girls
from rhubarb and peaches
in small-town Oklahoma.
That far-away summer
when she’d failed to stop weeping
you’ll stop weeping, said the doctor
from big-town Oklahoma
with a thousand miles between
you and your mama.
She drove west on 66
until its end at the ocean,
ocean where her new world unfurled
under trees bearing fruit,
fruit like a fist
or a mottled green womb.
One taste, avocado, was just
what she wanted. Good Lord,
she knew she was home.
from Gravity: New & Selected & Poems, Tebot Bach, 2018
© 2018 Donna Hilbert
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