I am in awe of the perfect avocado.

Sea turtle skin. Wild rainforest green.

It curves like a pregnant woman.


Puerto Rico is full of perfect avocados.

The island so ripe, wild rainforest green.


Bliss: the humidity of Abuela’s kitchen

where I unlock the avocado. Knots of green

line my fingers. My hands become trees.


It never lasts long enough. I leave, 

only for a moment, and look,

it is a brown fist.

ISABEL ACEVEDO is an MFA candidate at Georgia College. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Berkeley Poetry Review, Tule Review, Santa Ana River Review, and others. She serves as Assistant Poetry Editor of Arts & Letters