Saturday in CinCity


by Ted McMahon

My grandfather got up early to section grapefruit.
I know because I got up quietly to watch.
He was tall. His hairless shins stuck out
below his bathrobe, down to leather slippers.
The house was quiet, sun just up, ticking of
the grandfather clock tall in the corner.

The grapefruit were always sectioned just so,
nestled in clear nubbled bowls used
for nothing else, with half a maraschino
centered bleeding slowly into
soft pale triangles of fruit.
It was special grapefruit, Indian River,
not to be had back home.

Doves cooed outside and the last night-breeze
rustled the palms against the eaves.
He turned to see me, pale light flashing
off his glasses
and smiled.

I remember as I work my knife along the
membrane separating sections.
It's dawn. The doves and palms are far away.
I don't use cherries anymore.
The clock is digital
and no one is watching.

Please note:Photo courtesy


  1. This is just beautiful. So reminds me of my own grandfather and brought tears to my eyes.

  2. Lovely. The light glinting off the glasses. The smile. Irreplaceable.

  3. No one is watching, but you can still enjoy grapefruit as well as remembering a Grandfather.

  4. He's not really alone if he's surrounded by such sweet memories.

  5. Times certainly do change....
    sometimes for the better...sometimes not.
    nice work..smiles.

  6. Beautiful... and memories. My grandfather always had half a grapefruit in the morning, just so. But it was my grandmother who sectioned it and sprinkled just a small spoonful of sugar on it... the smell of grapefruit rind is irrevocably linked with my memory of their kitchen. thanks...


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