The Fruit Must Drop

A familiar home becomes too foreign to bear.
Transformation hangs heavier than gravity
waiting patiently, swaying in warm moist air.

Deep inside, the little kernel flickers and flares
swaddled, nourished in gold and silver filigree,
a familiar home becomes too foreign to bear

Full to bursting the skin shall be raked and pared
the crux eager, scheming, growing to be free
yet waiting patiently, swaying in warm moist air

Ripe succulent fruit, but to give cannot forbear,
reluctant and unable to birth the bloated seed.
It’s familiar and home; it’s absence too foreign to bear.

Another life, another world peers through the tear
swollen and aching to burst from this cavity.
A familiar home becomes too foreign to bear
forever waiting patiently in warm, moist air

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About the Author

Lela Tunnell is a novice poet; loving all things natural. She has loved and written as many poems as years lived on this planet (maybe a little more). She lives in Eureka Springs with her husband, feline, canine, chickens, rabbits, and ever-evolving gardens.

Lela Tunnell
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