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the scent of orange blossoms will guide me and the peel
of a grape may be deemed too thin, but it encloses
the softness of flesh, the outer & inner mesocarp, the sweet dream
of the migrant—
my grandfather over a field, surrounded by his sons
somewhere on the surface was a point of rupture
but I know there was a seed, too

it is spring again, the planting furrows will blur
as some drive past them but I see with clarity
where I am going
Decided to follow my gut and go to a place where I feel the rich soil and the open sky can help bridge the past to the present.  the past, the present,  and future coil over one another
Yuka Oiwa  Sep 2017
Peach
Yuka Oiwa Sep 2017
There is a threshold at the heart of a peach--
between the wooden pit and the golden flesh of fruit.
There lie a few red, raw strands that are, impossibly, both.

The Pit [Endocarp]: Birth/Death.
The most treelike part.
Bark balled into a fist.
Inside hides the genetic beginning and future of all peach trees.

The Fruit [Mesocarp]: Maturation.
                  The delicious and beguiling, round flesh that attracts those who will scatter the seed. It tastes of sweet summer months.
Grown to be devoured,
the fruit is an ephemeral sacrifice ensuring the seed will find soil
take root
and make more of its kind.

I feel as if I'm at the red, rimmed divide between the two.
There is still so much bark from my parent trees at my core, yet I'm starting to soften into my own shape.

I know there will be a feast or a fall in these coming years and both mean a survival (of sorts).
Forgive the state of this first draft. Comments and critiques welcome. I know it needs watering.
Caitlin Hirst Mar 23
Maybe the prospect of my inner core
would change over time creating me into a sour unpleasant mess. Am I worth the mess? And the sweetness of my blood that will stain and yet remain on your hands? Will you have to scrub me off ?
The mess of what you created of me remains? Did your feelings perpetuate over time, as you learnt all about my insides? As you started to scoop me dry. Do your lips remain the same or do they still have my stain? Did I stain you or did you just crush me apart for your own pleasure. You crushed my inner whites,  my thoughts deteriorated while I waited for you on the kitchen side. As my colours began to fade brown over time. it made me wonder if you were ever mine.

— The End —