The tenderness of beans

slack in a bag from the freezer aisle
shaken out like shrunken grey memes
I long for the podding of beans

to run my thumbnail once more
down the dark seam of your housing
over broad lumps and bumps

that split open to fuzzy white lining
where you lie like silent siblings
waiting to be held and counted:

six, seven, and sometimes a baby eighth
I used to wish I could zip up the pod,
put you all back where you began

nestled in darkness – but then
I’d miss the ritual unclothing:
hot blanch of kettle water

sharp squeeze at one end
as each inward green – so bright and tender –
leaps from my fingers with a squirt

leaving odd empty pouches
and a little seal at the end like
two lips pursed in kindness

Alice Huntley is an estuary girl, born by the Humber and living by the Thames. She has an MA in Chinese Studies and writes & reads with local poetry groups in Richmond and Twickenham. Her work deals with memory and the body and has appeared in Mslexia, the Waxed Lemon and Ink Sweat & Tears.