Avocado by H.E. Casson

Poet name: H.E. Casson Poem Name: Avocado Poem: Avocado  Stretched out, my arms touched both walls In my room that had been a pantry  It was not the size that faulted it We have tucked ourselves in smaller boxes and thrived If they were filled with the right furniture Compassion to sit on and laughter to sleep under  It was not the size, but it was The size as punishment when larger stood empty Filled with furniture that cut at my legs And ate my shirts when I sat not still enough  In this room I hoarded a seed Taken from the garbage at school at lunch From a green hard fruit I had never tasted  I stabbed it through with toothpicks And hovered it in water Willing it to grow green and hard and new  It did not grow Stretch out so its limbs touched both walls  It shrunk up wet and brown It turned itself inside out looking for sun In a room with no windows We rotted She and I Robbed of all the things it takes to grow  When she had turned to nothing but mush Nothing but guts Nothing but mud in the glass I took my bags and left I slept under trees that did not cut my legs Or try to eat me whole  I learned to grow unprotected Where I stretched out my arms And never touched walls at all  End of Poem.  Credits: Copyright © H.E. Casson  H. E. Casson (they/them) is a queer writer and voice actor whose words have been shared by Taco Bell Quarterly, Serotonin, and Malarkey Books. Their voice can be heard in Moonbase Theta Out, Disenchanted, and Seminar. They believe in kindness, in fine prose, and that the pigeon is nature’s greatest single accomplishment. Visit them at hecasson.com and as @hecasson on Twitter.