Eager eater that you are,
you just pop them in your mouth,
greedy for the flood of sweet
on your tongue.

But when a guest in someone’s
home and given baskets of Bings
to cut and combine in a bowl,
you are handed the pitter,

vaguely looking like an
instrument used in a pelvic
exam. You pause, figuring out
the placement of the dark

purple-black fruit, which you
have destemmed, before plunging
the pointy part into a cherry
center. The pit bursts out

in a graceful, goopy arc, smack
into the bowl where other
fruits, already sliced, wait.
You search for the bloody thing,

which your host, leaning
over your shoulder, finds.
Lesson learned: Don’t pit
over the fruit bowl.

Be sure the pit emerges whole,
transferred to a small bowl where it
joins other maroon-stained seeds.
If not, pry it out with a small

paring knife, then slice the former
orb in half to add to the big bowl,
taking care not to add your own
blood to the mix. For every

third cherry properly pitted,
pop half into your mouth,
smiling at the sweet-tart juice
darkening under your nails,

stains that you’ll happily carry for days.