Something has reawakened poetry within me.

 

I took the cherries

One by one

From the bowl

where one of them

Had spoiled,

Spilling its thick red juice,

But which one?

 

Inspecting each,

Looking for softness

In the firm red bodies

With the gentlest of touches,

Then rinsing the blood

Of their fallen brother

From their garnet skin.

 

I found it

Near the bottom,

Its soft mouth open

To let tumble out a stone,

The sole remaining hardness

In a melting body,

Unyielding as a soul.