Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Because It Is Bitter And Because It Is My Heart

Who has not wanted sweetness
and being given "strange fruit",
devoured it,
regretted it,
yet wished for more?
A bitter tang that lingers on the tongue-
a copper bouquet swilling down the throat-
a strange brew, love.

It haunts,
a revenant,
a memory,
a shiver in your bowels-
we search it out,
it comes to us, reshaping our mouths-
and we cry like little birds,
peeping for strange fruit.

we can die for lack of love, or of surfeit.

I picked the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil
and found it too big for my mouth.

I pricked its skin, and
sliced it thin and
slid it in
and found it revolting in its sweetness

a pulp crushed in my hands,
seeds too big to swallow-
strange fruit indeed-
comfort me with apples,
for I am sick with/of love. I am sick of love.

I wish no other thing than this-
to be full filled/fulfilled

and finding my stomach empty,
no other food than despair,
no manna in the desert,
i cry out,
I cry,
I beat my breast, I pick the feathers of my breast, I pick until
the blood flows,
the blood flow of my heart-
I pull it out and rest it in my hand
and bite...and finally am satisfied.
It is all I have desired-
I eat it all, and I am fulfilled-
for sweetness cannot cure my lack,
but only bitter herbs.

It is a pyre's meal,
a prisoner's last request-
for this last meal in which I take my part,
because it is bitter
and because it is my heart.

Find the inspiration for this poem here -"In The Desert" -Stephen Crane

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