by Montie Hanna
A thorny golden grenade drops.
It barely imprints the earth before the children come.
Uncharmed by its majestic emerald feathers
and tortoiseshell armour
An adult hand stills its rolling
and the knife comes down
splitting fibrous shell
and paring yellow flesh from skin
sweet artillery exploding
sugary rivers siphoned in excited slurps
the cored hearts of the children’s trophy sliced
onto small fingers
adorning like rings.
Montie has a protean approach to writing and enjoys experimenting with words, whatever the result. She particularly likes the challenge of poetry but is never totally sure in which form the ideas will come.