Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

he begins at the head,

with a straight-edged knife

carves a true line

through the centre, around

the pip and gently

returns back up along the other side

he moves slowly,

to ensure his knife

brings the end of his cut

to meet its beginning

carefully, he pries it open.

in his left palm

he cups the half without the pip

and fills it with sugar:

white and quiet

against the placid green

he moves

to his favourite chair

and sits

spoons one part sugar to two parts fruit

into his mouth

and succumbs to the perfect marriage

of gritty sweetness

and smooth nothingness

this is the quiet way my father loves