Mandorla

The flesh of the almond is sweet; 
its milk nourishes and sustains, 
and its oil brightens my skin. 
No two almonds are quite alike: 
the folds, the veins, make it its own. 
My grandfather had an almond shell, 
hinged together, and inside, 
a sprung spider: a delight 
from the second opening.

You know, your almond and my peach 
share a few things in common; 
they’re made of the same stuff. 
Though mine might contribute to a cobbler, 
or star in some schnapps, yours shines: 
you are marzipan, amaretto, macaron, 
biscotti, nougat … I’m ready for you.

I’m here, in the in-between space 
of two overlapping circles, this mandorla 
of both-and where the sacred bursts out; 
I’m here, in an almond of my own, 
wondering what desserts 
could be made of my flesh, 
or toys could be made of my shell.

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Kit Willett (he/they) is a bisexual poet, doctoral student, Third Order Franciscan, and executive editor of the Aotearoa poetry journal Tarot. His debut poetry collection, Dying of the Light, was published by Wipf and Stock in 2022.