On slicing a Kiwi Fruit

Like cracking a pebble and finding a fossil —
that no eyes have ever seen

there you were, unexpected —
a little green face gazing,
from the kitchen worktop.

My heart sighed,
seeing your pip eyes, beady, staring
knowing nothing of shape or colour;

Breakfast waited, while I stood
blinking at this sudden kiwi-creature,
tiny flat Martian,
helpless as a planet
without a mothering star;
I cradled you in my palm.

Silent
without whimper or wail,
did you exist before the cut?  Would you exist
if not for me?

As a child pretends with a caterpillar friend,
my heart echoed an urge to keep
tend and care for you
give you a corner in my home
where you’ll grow and

with twinkling, star lit eyes — beam.