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Tomatoes A poem by Bro. Yao

Tags: tomatoes plant


there is a hole in your chest
where your lung used to be;

but with your overalls on
the same old man opens
the glass door outside
to stand among the four
foot tall tomato plants.

your breath is heavy
under the noon day sun
a cough, a cool, sound
raspy like the low talking

jazz musicians, who say
the day and its wisdom;
your true voice speaking
of plants, growing soft,

low almost whispering.
there is dying you know
and joy; fighting
bleeding and strength
within you, force of the world;
like the tomatoes’ rise
from your tiny patch
of earth, each spring.

i see for the first time
a tooth missing
when you smile.

and in your hand
the red fruit
almost perfectly round.

This post first appeared on Free Black Space, please read the originial post: here

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Tomatoes A poem by Bro. Yao


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