Poetry: Spring

like the skin of a green apple
curled away from the mealy flesh
by a crooked fingernail
cloudy with dirt.
like the pickled rind of
crumbly, chunked, sweating.
like the glint of crushed snail shell,
the oystery smell of decayed root and rot, an envelope of fertility.
like the newly birthed pearl of fresh mozzarella,
pinched between two worn knuckles,
erupted onto the weathered cutting board.
like the feathered veins of a green onion,
milky, alone
crispy, salty, swollen
with Spring.


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