Yellow Plums
By Canonette
- 548 reads
Gestating in the parlour of a Birmingham terrace,
her ears prick at echoes in the brick-lined entry.
Above the taut balloon of her stomach bump,
she sees familiar grey curls appear in the cold frame
window of the hot house, where she is being cultivated -
on milk stout to build her up and increase her yield.
The heat is stifling. Another June storm ferments the air.
A witches’ brew of industrial fumes; the foundry’s metallic tang
mixes with the boiled bone stench from the glue factory.
Squares of terry towelling adorn the backs of armchairs,
like antimacassars, in preparation for the imminent arrival;
her sex already determined by means of a wedding band,
suspended on a cotton thread above her bulging belly.
Waiting expectantly, relief floods over her as she sees,
clutched in her mother-in-law’s hand, a brown paper bag.
She sniffs the sticky air for traces of nectar and sour top notes;
salivates at the thought of splitting skin with her teeth,
sinking fangs into fibrous amber flesh, feeling the sharp
stone against her eager tongue, sucking greedily,
then spitting the wood shard kernel into her hand.
She gets her timing wrong; snatches too soon, prematurely.
The bag splits, scattering yellow plums, mellow and syrupy,
across the hearth rug.
Inside, almost ripe, the baby stirs.
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Comments
This gave me a great big
This gave me a great big smile .
The comparison of the two expectancies is lovely, and the references to 'industry' is also very complementary to the whole.
Really enjoyed.
Lindy
PS the Birmingham reference got me in as it was where I was born in a similar place which you describe.
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Another interesting and well
Another interesting and well-drawn picture. Rhiannon
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I like this a lot, especially
I like this a lot, especially the confusion with the woman and the plums when the grey curls appear in the hot house doorway. all very sensual and ritualized with a hint of Hammer house of horror . Maybe it's the mother--in-law's witchiness, the everyday irrational supersitition of hanging a ring above the stomach and yes they are both plums filled with a stone.
good work
See me!
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Laughed to myself because our
Laughed to myself because our themes just do that to my face. Anyway, I love the contrast the sense of industrialisation against her natural plum-sucking behaviour. Industry vs nature. It's ripe with salivating language and she feels a wild gestating force not to be reckoned with.
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