Still Life With Knife


I’d like to peel myself
like an apple
discard that thin skin
bruised so easily,
cut out the hollows
where worms have dug their holes,
carefully remove the seeds
clutched tight within the core,
plant them in some new place
warm and sunny,
rich soil and plenty of water
where thirsty roots can finally take hold.

Perhaps then
my branches opening to the sky
I could, with outstretched limb
bring from bud to blossom
that rarest of fruit
pure, sweet, unblemished
the incomparable red

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