By Ellen Stupar
Ellen Stupar is a poet who immigrated to Australia. She writes about the textures and memories of daily life.
Instagram : _littlereddoor_
Skins splitting in heat,
tomatoes rolling under blades,
salt stuck to fingertips.
Nothing asked of us
except to stand there
and eat
what was already ripe.
The bench always warm.
the afternoon taking its time.
We didn’t know
to call it a season.
Only that it ended
when the tomatoes did.