Ode to 柚子

What exactly are you, my little friend?

Whenever I come to China, I see you, 柚子, and you're a constant comfort when my stomach refuses to take the local food.

Sometimes, I don't have a knife to peal you, but then I use my teeth to break into your thick flesh, tearing you like a savage and claiming you like a possessive lover.

On occasion, when the moon hangs low in the sky, I image it is you, thick with sweetness and heavy with possibilities. I call to you, yet you do not hear me. I motion for you to come; however, I am limited by my mortality and limitations of language. I didn't know your name until just now, and when I first said it, the sounds softly waltzed off my tongue with grace and certainty.

When I cut you, you bleed. When I tickle you, you laugh. When I have 5 块, I can possess you.

In 18 days, I will miss you.