the child-parents of an avocado tree 

you want the avocados to ripen
so you throw them at the side of the building
like tennis balls, each colliding 
against bricks without making a noise. 
inside each fruit the pits
are actually bouncy balls. we kneel down 
to peel back the skin & soft green
to find what colors we got. yours is blue
mine is yellow swirling. for fun
we squish the avocado guts between
our fingers & pretend these are carcasses.
pretend we're going to eat the heart
of a lion. pretend that hearts are buttery
& easily split in half. we can't remember
where our own hearts came from so we
throw the bouncy balls & follow them
to the very edge of the picture frame
made of wood & nails. we're on the wall
in our parent's house. we're brother & sister,
did i say that? i can't remember which one
i am but we're hunters now so that 
doesn't matter. hunters plucking avocados 
from a tree by the schoolyard where they grow
despite the Pennsylvania weather despite
no one planting them there, despite 
no one knowing what to do with them,
despite each fruit trying to run away,
rolling like footballs towards the creek.
we have nothing better to do for 
the rest of our lives. we have never actually
left this town. a journey means the skin
of fruit & our curiosity. we imagine a microscope
to look at the big colorful seeds.
i wipe the fruit-guts on my shorts
& my brother cries that his hands are dirty.
i explain to him that summer is dirty 
& that he should get used to it. we break
another avocado but this time there is 
a small white egg inside instead of 
a bouncy ball or a pit. we hold it carefully.
we name it. we decide that we're the egg's
adopted parents. we hold it to keep it warm.
we tell the egg that when it grows up
it can be anything it wants. we love the egg
& build it a nest of avocado rinds.
we wash our sticky hands in the creek
where herons the size of people stare at us
bleakly. we nod to them to avoid confrontation. 
the egg stays & egg for the rest
of the summer despite our encouragement
& afternoon after afternoon where we
perched like animals around it,
taking turning standing up to throw 
avocados at the wall. none of them ever
ripened or tasted like anything but clay.