Poetry Pause: Melanie Power — Harvest

Poem author: Melanie Power Poem title: Harvest Poem: In acrid sweetness, grapefruit is tang at tongue, acid searing nervous finger cuts. Let me count the ways I could have you, that I want to. The thrall of you coming on, big as a season, ordinary as weather. Even breakfast is suggestive: the rind is your skin, porous, lost in limonene. The fruit’s flesh ripe red, two halves open- faced, its bitter blood staining the throat. The grapefruit was man-made, orange via pomelo. We kneel, and burn, in cycles. From the bowl, the fruit dreams of the country it came from. Like lines of latitude, we lean into earth, never meeting. The summer could love us. Meet me some July, in other lives, another province, a bog lit by lupines. Let me touch you underwater—at Middle Cove Beach, across Atlantic algae sheets. We hurt, and are hurt, in cycles. The salt, they say, is good for cuts. By midmonth, the capelin will roll in, flush against shore, to spawn— the water so silver with fish you can grab handfuls. Locals salt them for snacks, or press their bodies into soil for better harvests. Japanese markets covet capelin roe, the tiny beads they call masago. It bleeds from their silver sides as they beach. Almost no male survives the season. End of Poem. Credits: Copyright © Melanie Power Melanie Power's poetry has been featured in The Malahat Review, Riddle Fence, Room, Southword Journal, Prairie Fire, and elsewhere. Her poetry was longlisted for the 2019 CBC Poetry Prize, and won the 2019 Glass Buffalo Poetry Contest, judged by Ben Ladouceur. She holds an M.A. in English Lit. & Creative Writing from Concordia University, and recently completed a residency at the Banff Centre for the Arts. Born and raised in St. John's, Newfoundland, she currently lives in Montreal