Worn down by touch
Hanging slack from my shoulders
Like two empty nets,
These two hands hold fruit,
A life that’s sliced in half, some
Damage has been done
Although the blade was sharp
As a lonely day,
Sharp enough
To slit a kosher throat. Juice
Squeezed out by the pressure
Of the blade
Drips on the table
Cloth, and spreads
A yellow stain but some
Mistakes can’t be avoided.
At least there is no heart
Or arteries to squeeze the blood
Faster. Fruit’s a way
Life grows within a season,
Ripens fast but dies slow
As a seed on stone,
So when you take a bite
You taste the sugar,
As precious as any sacrifice
Offered to a god,
Or what we demand
From those we love most.
