He was the type

to explore the texture

of grapefruit with his feet,

tearing away the thick layer

of spongy peel with his toenails.



I discovered his foot one Sunday,

dangling a piece

of fragrant yellow peel

into the pages of my New York Times Magazine.



Save this, he said,

placing a section of juice-bubbled fruit

into his mouth

with his other foot.



Perhaps grapefruit peel

removed with so much care

is worth saving,

dried and mixed with cream,

spread as salve on chapped lips and faces,

or as an aphrodisiac,

made with wine before a fire.



At any rate,

we have grapefruit

for breakfast every Sunday,

and the cookie jar

beside the stove

smells of dried citrus.