Saturday, October 25, 2008

Olive (Take 2)

I am wild gypsy fruit bitter as Koroneiki
small and difficult to cultivate
limestone roots too close to salt -
wounds too near to risk of drought.

On war-torn shores I scorch and shelter
delight to flourish rare to one
who harvests, rolls pits against
teeth thick with oil, pungent with sea.

I am no Odysseus, I did not crawl between
two shoots grown from single stalk.
I am no legend, no tree in Crete
two-thousand rings around a wooden heart.

My outstretched hand is not a leaf --
I was not made to settle doves.

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