You fall so recklessly,
with such innocence
as though the ground will catch you
with open arms and not sharp rocks.
You ripen so slowly,
with such elan
as though the trees
all wait to see your flesh turn freckled orange.
You taste sweet momentarily,
with such hesitance
as though the birds
will pause forever
and a month
with sharp beaks poised.
You are, with your freckled sides,
and astrigent flavor ripening
to sweet, orange softness
how I aspire to be,
what I long to become:
the fruit that knows its time.
YOU ARE READING
Bloom in the Dark: Poems from Valleys and Corners
PoesíaThese are poems that I've written during dark times of my life. There's also a few that surfaced in the quirkier corners of my mind. Putting them all together has been fun.
