The Trees Had These Blooms...
by Tyrel Kessinger


like living patchworks of lipstick reds, cotton candy pinks,
snow whites, sunset purples
and I soon saw them quiver and fall
a similarity they shared
with the sun-feasted corpse
of the squirrel on the sidewalk
which is nothing else
if not a rank and file member
in a long legion of dust-biters
and that fat tomato in the kitchen
my mother and father wizarded from the land
with the magic of their raw wand fingers
it was eaten by my wife
who laughed when the juice
and seed
sprung from her lips
and trailed her chin like a stream

but here then is the turn of a sphere
and what has been taken
is again retrieved
the vibrant blooms
sprout and breathe like living stains
the scampering offspring of
the poor, dead squirrel
run like wild children
without an inkling of their origin
or of their future’s end
and hearty tomatoes from new green vines
my wife bleeding new pale red springs
though my father’s goading hands
were absent from this year’s yield

we are not so dislike
us
and the nature of things

we will quiver and fall

we will be biters of the dust

and we must do the living
remaining ignorant of an ending






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