Hard and knarled, I stare at a peach split in half, velvet skin bruised from being knocked around at the bottom of my backpack
It was overripe, torn, leaking out its furry boundary
papers and phone charger sticky
An impression, contact made with the world of my possessions as if not wanting to be forgotten
Remember that time? Even after it is gone
There is a pit in my stomach
A seed in an infant given at birth
Containing all the dna and scripture for a whole life
(the tree is already in the seed)
Sometimes it is a core and sometimes it is a well dried up, bottomless
Sometimes redecoration is necessary, the pit gets covered by a cage
and the cage is also empty at first but then I realise it is actually full
Or half full
Or getting there
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