4th Street Blues
As good as gold:
“I want to live
I want to die”
I like the way you look down
And to right when you smile
to yourself
When I am dying
to know what is in your brain
I bought a papaya last night
I picked it out and knocked on its flesh
And heard a hollow sound
And it cost four dollars
And I carried it home in a sack on my back, carried it twelve blocks
I washed its skin and set it on a plain, clean towel.
When it dried I set it on a green cutting board and used my new kitchen knife for the first time to slice it lengthwise
For the first time I looked inside
And those black seeds and pink flesh
Were life: new and foreign and memorable.
My love wears his buttoned shirts like an actor, as though they make him brave
And were I steadfast as you I could glean a stage of my own
In winter you gave me your limelight
which is slatted morning light
Speech is rendered
And my speech will be
How you are brave and I am not
2 thoughts on "4th Street Blues"
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I enjoy the papaya’s “black seeds and pink flesh” as a metaphor for the rush of life.
Ugh. The prices we pay to feel human. (((hugs)))