The Peeling of a Clementine
- Elizabeth Weir
- Jan 23
- 1 min read
by Elizabeth Weir
Her father looks on as his high-school daughter
pierces rind, pitted with pores like skin,
presses in her thumb and pulls free a willing
petal of peel, first boyfriend watching.
Piece by piece, his daughter peels, until the soft flesh
lies naked in her palm, its skin, a dropped dress.
A delicate petticoat of pith still clings, invitation
to a ready tongue. In her open hand, his child
extends the fruit to her boyfriend, eyes meeting.
Her father scrapes back his chair, sighs,
too soon—too soon—his only daughter.
He stalks from the kitchen to find her mother.
***
Elizabeth Weir’s High on Table Mountain, was nominated for the 2017 Midwest Poetry Book Award. Kelsey Books published her second book, When Our World Was Whole, which was selected for the National Poetry House Showcase. Her work has been published in many journals, including Comestock Review, Agates, The London Reader, Gyroscope and Adana.
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