Thunderheads fill my bowl. Whole
Skies of storms, many nights'
Worth - an epic flood's worth - sit
Still, waiting to be plucked
One handful at a time for Mom.
For R.J., they're removed singly and
Given names (her game):
Juliet, Jeremiah, James (not
Stormy or ominous). I bite
The tops off of the biggest
Clouds so S.L. can eat them; food
For a baby with no sharp bits. The
Soft puffy insides start to dissolve
Like snow in my warm mouth.
Heat expanded air and moisture,
Forced particles to burgeon outward into
Bulbous mounds larger than
Mountains - smaller than
Hailstones.
 |
| Popcorn Cloud |
I'd always heard it was a star, but
No: a tiny flower hides inside the
Core of the apple I'm eating. A sculptor
Cast a lily in wax, pulled out the delicate
Petals, and left behind an empty
Cream-colored impression wherein dark,
Fertile seeds rest encased. My thin knife has
Slid through the crack in the
Door and unbolted the lock: now
They fall with gentle clicks
Onto my cutting board.
 |
| Apple Flower |
No comments:
Post a Comment