Summer 2003 • Vol. XXV No. 3/4 Poetry |

The Plantain-Eaters

Thirty-five centimeter bird, turaco, nestled, in the leaf sheath with green fruit between the seams at the nape of conical, false trunks. The bird of long tail, bird of short wing upon which turacin, and turacoverdin, the red pigment, the green, are found along a pinion. We were once asleep beneath the moon, curved blade of Emiliano Zapata agrarian leader in the moth bed, under mosquito nets. We heard lean chickens in the yard, goats upon the woodpile, and women pounding yams. The plantains are getting blacker in the wood box made for government cheddar, the box where my father puts plantains until they ripen. When they ripen they'll be fried in bright oil, spit-hiss, be heard above the whir of the motorized pool cleaner in the deep end. Fished out with the ladle made from mesh to soak on folded napkins, spread fan-shape on a bordered dish. The man is out back with his machete. He chops the new growth down so the driveway will be clear of branches filling with heavy fruit as in the

Already have an account? Log in

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Borderlands

By Suji Kwock Kim

Thirty-five centimeter bird, turaco, nestled, in the leaf sheath with green fruit between the seams at the nape of conical, false trunks. The bird of long tail, bird of short […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.