Unbitten

a stained glass veil

shades my skin

in vivid green

while sugars fly

down a crooked slide

to fill my pitted middle.

my screened recess

escapes the gaze,

saves me for a market day,

from bruise and scar,

from wanderers in outside flight

whose nibbles spoil the appetite.

the orchard sunlight flew

like hymns through church glass,

until that day

in a scarred market

where buyers bought and bit,

hands handled velvet delicates,

the harvest, gathered in a raveled bag,

framed on a stage

as pale as bone

with looks askance at my

unblemished flesh,

I sat sidelined from the rest.

Two steps left they took instead

to a basket blaze of red, they say

I'm far too perfect to eat.