By Joe Sonnenblick

I never picked a ripe piece of fruit in my life,
Always biting into sour dreamscape.
The greatest moments of us, fleeting
The vivid nature of the memory, dulled.
I want to know why you were who you were?
Fourteen years on,
No prediction or summations
Gentle hush over the arbors
Then sirens blare,
Breaking the autumn gaze
Staring out into the nothingness that holds all my relatives and friends
They are a time capsule…
Finally,
A sweet kiwi at the bottom of the bag
Like a secret you kept from me,
Door unlocked.

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