SECOND PRIZE WINNER - SENTINEL LITERARY
POETRY COMPETITION (OCTOBER 2009)
sister visits just before sunset, smelling of beefsteak
cream and roasted pumpkin seeds.
me, delicately, like a new puppy. I worry about the
possibility her coco butter sun cream will leech into my
overexcited, apparently, at the first sight of his
shows me a video on her phone of the tiny white pinheads
picking a freezer bag of pumpkin seeds from her tight jeans
her thighs tremble.
she usually scatters seed debris over the table or floor,
collects them in her palm this time. She can spend hours
perfect the technique of splitting husks open
her two front teeth, prising the inner seed
its shell with the tip of her tongue.
used to do it together, on a Saturday night in front of
the scraps into the fire, listen to them screech.
ashamed for her coming here, adhering to the family rule
visiting me, a tedious, painful chore.
places one on the bedrest table. It sits,
scary nutritional value watching me.
done, she doesn’t kiss or hug
leaves like a possible dream.
the seed in wads of tissue and pelt it towards the bin.