Bloom in the Dark: Poems from Valleys and Corners

Persimmons

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.