bitter fruit

i'm not sure that these are really cherry blossoms

we are lulled by
candlestrewn news-

casts into some sense
of wax-puddled forever,

by the delibility
of asphalt footprints

into the tend-
encies to forget.

dripping elegies
for the fallen, we

count cherry-
blossomed blessings

petal by petal like
a lonely child’s game:

he loves me, he
loves me not. we stain

our subconscious
in pink nostalgia,

as if we, too, knew
the sting of April,

as if we could some-
how make it better, as if

by our crying, the world
would be a better place

come May, the cherry
trees then in full bloom.

12 thoughts on “bitter fruit

  1. I liked this, and tried not to read too much Boston into it. The world does become a better place – one place at a time, and when that one place improves, another dips, so it’s constant work. Yes, I stain my subconscious in pink nostalgia, but that’s not a bad thing. I have a belief that without conscientious, volitional action, the work defaults to depressed, miserable, angry. It is my duty to stay positive, hopeful, and I’m not naive. However, I refuse to believe that a negative, pessimistic perspective is the only valid perspective. Our crying will not make the world a better place – it’s what we do about our tears that will make the difference. I really liked the language and imagery here, Dr. Poetessa. Take a big deep breath of air for me.

  2. the best I’ve read tonight. I’m not thinking of Boston particularly…or the 96 liverpudlians remembered this week or Syria or the 30 killed today in the wedding in Afghanistan….just the sadness of man’s inhumanity to man and the absolute need for the cherry blossom and the violets and cowslips blooming hidden in the grasses of the wayside …even if noone looks for them …that sweet beauty of that moment is there.


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