Pit on a Knife

Blades of grass softly slicing me
Dirt scraping my skin
Sitting under a tree
That has aged 70 years

An avocado shaped like tears
I carve it open, up and over
Split in half as the moment sobers

The pit exposed and heavy
I stab it, stuck with the knife
Growth had weighed it down and dark
But had it ever really known strife

Kept hidden as the fruit would rot
If it was seen the rest would spot
And I would have never seen it ripen

I scatter salt and grab my spoon
As oxygen will still commune
As I have no other choice
But slither, cut, and scoop

I empty the now bruising teardrop shaped skins
Sitting next to my pit, under a tree
That has aged much longer than me