Week 31: Coconut
by Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach
Four times they drew,
checking blood
for sweetness—how quickly
the body can dissolve
what feeds it. “Glucose”
meaning sweet wine,
simple, meaning
how much of it hides
inside the coconut's
husk, its tender white-
meat flesh, its milk,
the creamy-clear
colostrum, the same
as your seed-nut-fruit
dark-drupe nipples seep
each time you shower
or mistake a noise
for children’s crying.
You vomited the first time,
five-years-old and biting
its shredded meat, dried flakes
surrounded by dark chocolate.
You feel it even now, sand
between your teeth, sickness
rising, remembering
BOUNTY, the candy-bar
treat so you’d endure another
hour in the market, Ukraine’s
summer heat, your bountiless
childhood, everything
for sale to make departure
sweeter. You’ve refused it
since, the stick and sweet
of it. You’ve let go
anything you own,
your blood and choice
to eat a bountiful pint
of imported German
ice cream, impossible
in your insoluble childhood.
checking blood
for sweetness—how quickly
the body can dissolve
what feeds it. “Glucose”
meaning sweet wine,
simple, meaning
how much of it hides
inside the coconut's
husk, its tender white-
meat flesh, its milk,
the creamy-clear
colostrum, the same
as your seed-nut-fruit
dark-drupe nipples seep
each time you shower
or mistake a noise
for children’s crying.
You vomited the first time,
five-years-old and biting
its shredded meat, dried flakes
surrounded by dark chocolate.
You feel it even now, sand
between your teeth, sickness
rising, remembering
BOUNTY, the candy-bar
treat so you’d endure another
hour in the market, Ukraine’s
summer heat, your bountiless
childhood, everything
for sale to make departure
sweeter. You’ve refused it
since, the stick and sweet
of it. You’ve let go
anything you own,
your blood and choice
to eat a bountiful pint
of imported German
ice cream, impossible
in your insoluble childhood.
Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach (www.juliakolchinskydasbach.com) emigrated from Ukraine as a Jewish refugee when she was six years old. She is the author of three poetry collections: The Many Names for Mother; Don't Touch the Bones; and 40 WEEKS, forthcoming from YesYes Books in February, 2023. Her recent poems appear in POETRY, Ploughshares, and American Poetry Review. She holds an MFA from the University of Oregon and a Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania. Julia is the author of the model poem for "Dear Ukraine": A Global Community Poem (https://dearukrainepoem.com/). She is Assistant Professor and Murphy Fellow in Creative Writing at Hendrix College and lives in Little Rock, Arkansas with her family.