The Bear and I – A Sort of Nursery Rhyme

My emotions are doing things... {don't know the source of this adorable oddity}
My emotions are doing things… {don’t know the source of this adorable oddity}

So…

I have a lil nephew and have been thinking of what nursery rhymes I’d like to share with him when he is old enough to understand them. Right now he only communicates by shoving things in his mouth which is adorable when said thing may not kill him.

There’s this horrid poem I did and I’m going to teach it to him in about a few months. I’m certain his parents will hate it but it will be our thing *evil grin*

Disclaimer: I am terrible at rhymes and rhyming in general. I have no future in rap, hip hop or anything in that area.

One day I may write nursery rhymes but this is just a practise.

Here goes…

 

The Bear and I

“There once was a bear who lived in my shoe

He had nine lives and three spots blue

They hid in his armpit and cried ‘I hate you!’

 

I never gave the bear a name

But he stayed in my shoe all the same

And I cant figure out on who to lay the blame

 

The spot’s cries to both the bear and I

Made me wince and weep from my left eye

I’ll strangle and maim them or die with my last try”

 

On the horrid scale, does it make your eyes bleed?

O&O

A Poem!

 ...

Pitch

She stuck a pin in the anchor of her dreams

It made a ping and on a flight of fancy

She tucked it beneath her skin and tweed

It rolled and twisted, sunk deeper and died silent

 

She held a hand out to the Prince on the pier

He sniffed the air in her direction

Looked away and blew a kiss she’d never hear

The wind giggled too loudly so she tied it beneath her chin

 

The sun refused to blind her

When she stuck her face in it’s bowels

There was no room for her whims

On the back of the Devil’s right palm

 

On an oar she hung her wishes

Wrapped in dried tears and smoked in walrus bone

There’s no room under a roof for a pocket with no coin

The moon wrapped her in a blanket of light and a kiss that sounded like home

 

She’ll never wake in the morning, noon or dawn thereafter

The aftertaste of the moon’s kiss tastes of the hereafter

The girl dared to dream but leaped from a cliff too high

There’s no one to catch her and so tonight,

 

She’ll die.

 

*************************************************************************************************

So…

I have no idea what that is about or even where it came from but it teaced itself out so there you have it.

O&O

Final Correction – A Poem

 ...

So…

I have no idea where this poem is from, I was editing some older work and thought… well… I could share it… Sometimes my mind regurgitates some pretty morbid things.

Enjoy!

O&O.

*******************************************************************************

Final Correction

I will not speak of things I do not know.
I shall not hide what needs to be shown
I’ve blazed a trail, I alone must follow

You’ve been by my side, of that I am glad
You can accompany me no more
Your time in my life has run its course

Sadness has no place here
Sorrow even less
My love my dear,
Let me have my final embrace

Still your mind, my heart races
Today it ends, what began too long ago
I’ll kiss your cheek, wont allow you to kiss mine

Hold my memories, that’s all I am leaving
Tomorrow you shall awake and alone will you be
I heed the voices in my head and troubled no longer will you be

My blade reflects the serenity of tonight
Company it has been but our last conversation we will have
My love you tried, you kept me sane but my memories come when you aren’t there

I shed a tear that no one will ever see
My last bath I shall run, it is a small treat for me
My toes feel the warmth that my heart longed for
I should be calm, I knew this day would have to come

The water around my ankles reminds me
Of a time when the sun bared down on sandy shores
And my smile was enough to make you happy

Long have those days gone by and my bruised body
Cannot repent on behalf of the sins your hands commit
My love, my dear I cannot forgive one last correction

I sit in my final resting place
There is the serenity I have been seeking
I look up and gaze at your unsmiling face

Did I wake you? I know I shouldn’t have
Cant bare this weight anymore.
Come keep me company

We say no words, what needs to be spoken
Has already been said
I cant leave I need your help

Your hands hold mine, mine tremble no more
I know what must happen. Shocked I am that it didn’t happen sooner
This is the most tender thing you have ever done to me

Right above the bruises you gave me last night
Lay a metallic silver kiss where your lips no longer wander
This is not as hard as when I told you about the child I am carrying

Neither of us do U want,
Neither of us will you have.
I gave you myself and only you can return it to me

The lights getting darker now,
Our baby kicks. When I meet him
I’ll tell him that daddy didn’t want him
But mummy couldn’t let him go

So together we shall be
Where your corrections no longer are
I shall hold the son
You gave to me

As your final goodbye

When You Are No Longer An Immigrant

Credit: Paramount Digital Entertainment and LXD Ventures
Credit: Paramount Digital Entertainment and LXD Ventures

A while ago I came across this video (Coming Out of Your Shell) and my heart did weird things in my chest (like it could do them anywhere else) because I GET IT! You should check it out. If only I had talent with the rest of my limbs and REAL co-ordination, I could create such beautiful visual things… *sigh*.

For a lot of my childhood, I was an immigrant in various places. And language has always been a “problem” for me. Apparently I used to speak Portuguese before “proper” school (lived in Mozambique at the time) but my mum would pinch me (or atleast I think that happened… but it may have been something I made up to make my loss of something so beautiful mean something) because she wanted me to speak English so I lost that right quick. I have an ear for languages but my tongue sits in my mouth like gum at the bottom of a shoe when I try and make it obey other linguistic rules. I cant even do slang properly. I am terrible at trying to sound “street”. Terrible… but I am running off the rails again. Lets get back to topic.

I have generally always had a good “command of English” and it made my mother proud but it didn’t really make me fit in (and what child trying to be normal, doesn’t want that.. or rather, that was the norm at the time, attempting to stand out didn’t really make you special). Among my own countrymen I couldn’t be a part of their private jokes and stories because I could not speak my own mother tongue or any other language from my home country (technically, English is my mother tongue because that’s what my mother used “on me” but “biologically”, my father is Tonga and my mother is Lala, both from Zambia) . My mother didn’t want my siblings and I to be “polluted” by the local languages we were bombarded with because that affected the sound of our English so we were a purely English household except when my parents wanted to share something between the two of them.

“Why didn’t you just teach yourself?” Might be a logical question and to that I would respond “Have you met other children?” They are brutal. Trying to speak a local language when you “look like it should be easy” but sound like a well meaning although ill mannered tourist is torturous and if you do not have the self esteem to ride through the bullying, you give up. Which is what happened to me, I gave up trying to learn my own languages and tried to ace “exotic” sexy languages like French and make sure no one else could “out-English” me, this was of course ridiculous.

I love the sounds of different languages and while I don’t have the same kind of negativity towards my parents languages, there is still too much residual failure in there for me to seek out teaching my tongue to move in that way at this point in my life. If its something my children want to learn in the future, I will not block them and will do everything I can to provide the tools necessary.

The problem with being an immigrant for so long is that even when you return home, it doesn’t quite settle on the bones in a way that truly fits. It may be comfortable but its not entirely “made to measure”. I know I found it easier being an immigrant when it was obvious that I didn’t belong than justifying why I didn’t belong because I looked just like everyone else.

I hope you find your own tongues and come out of your shells. You can only be the best version of you, you choose whether that best version is a watered down version of someone else’s expectations.

O&O

A Poem – Beside the Murky Stream (WIP)

So…

I have been gone a while, haven’t I?

Life has been keeping me more occupied than I care to admit and very little of it has been constructive but some things have been pretty damn good. I will go into the deets in a later post but for now here is a project I am working on.

It doesn’t feel “complete”. I am not sure why but I will be tweaking it in the future I imagine.

Enjoy!

O&O.

Along the Shore
Along the Shore

Beside the Murky Stream

Upon a stream of memories,
You road a float of hope.
I watched you sail away from me,
Without a backward glance.

You took a sliver of yesterday
Wrapped it in a cocoon of tomorrow
And nestled it into today
Tied in a bow I didn’t know

I kept on my sandy path,
Loyal to torture and solitude.
Under the shade of remorse,
I tried to sing but only sat.

You took a sliver of yesterday
Wrapped it in a cocoon of tomorrow
And nestled it into today
Tied in a bow of wispy string

You watched me from afar
As my fingers danced on sunlight
I didn’t feel your stare
And dug deeper into yesterday

You took a sliver of yesterday
Wrapped it in a cocoon of tomorrow
And nestled it into today
Tied in a bow I couldn’t see

The stream began to overflow
Carrying you back with it,
The sun blocked my view
But you rode it all the same to me

You took a sliver of yesterday
Wrapped it in a cocoon of tomorrow
And nestled it into today
Tied in a bow of forever

We took our time wiping the mud off
I’m sure there is still some left
And sitting under that tree of remorse
I finally noticed some fruit

God’s Girl – A Poem

 The story isn't at the beginning
The story isn’t at the beginning

God’s Girl

There was a girl God gave the world to
But she had no eyes to see that she had it
For while her hands held it all
Her heart held none and beat for even less.

He gave her a smile to light the darkest days
Hoping she could ignite her dying spirit
The body of a Goddess encased in satin mocha wrapping
That danced in the sun and swam through the fields.

 

She had it all I tell you, but she never knew.
Her smile never shone in her reflection,
Her body, she allowed others to desecrate
Never finding the solace she sought

The darkness crept in as she watched.
Her eyes saw what her heart told her was there.
Her few flaws that made her perfect
Became the definition she had of herself

But God had a plan for her you see
He saw that while her road was smooth
She would never stumble and look within instead of without
She would need to fall before she could rise.

He wondered whether he had given her enough strength,
It does no good to break a doll that had no chance at all
When he doubted whether her will was enough to survive the coming storm
He decided that a broken doll was better than a perfect one that never saw itself

He sent a monsoon of horrors that left her beaten and weathered
Her teeth fell out and she could only smile for herself
Her body was bruised and beaten and scars marked her life
Her figure no longer as firm as it once was, became the foundation to her renewed spirit

Life happened, and took away what she once was
Finally she saw that she was greater than no one would ever make her
She saw that she needed only herself to draw strength
She had fallen many times and had risen just once more

Her bruised, weathered skin told a story
A story of a young tree that grew, at first in the shade
Then endured the harshest sunlight
To emerge the strongest trunk that ever stood

I tell you, God’s girl knew how to fall
But more than that she knew how to rise
She learned that without falling to her knees
She’d never have known how to walk on her own feet

And it was her hard feet that taught her to fly.

Giving Birth to Natti – A Trio of Poems

 Yesterday's Breeze
Yesterday’s Breeze

I

Natti’s Waking

Natti had a secret she never could share
When the moon winked though her curtains
A snake would crawl into her bed

A snake with rough hands and skin wrapped in sweat
A long thick tongue danced with blunt teeth in a pit of spit
Into her skin the medley would go

They’d always mark their trail
But his lips would always insist
‘This is nothing but a game’

Above his snake hands, sat broad shoulders
For this snake was built as solidly as a wall
When the moon shone and liquor warmed his heart
He’d come in to play

His tongue wove tales of love and devotion
His eyes refused to see the abundance of her emotion
Her tears mingled with his for they often cried together

He must have shed his old skin
For he has come to share
And tonight, it’s a taste for something new

Into her sheets with pink frills and purple dolls
Taking space she has already made warm
He has come to take what she is not yet ready to give

His hand covers her belly
Makes her face that tongue flickering from his face
He has come to play
Tonight? It’ll be with toys

His skin against hers
He whispers words of his darkest desires
Confessions can be shared between slaves and their masters

She’s not ready, he’s tried to be patient
To quell his spirits from stirring in those dark, dank places
He’s lost the battle and fanned his unnatural obsession
The moon has refused to see tonight’s sin

Her screams to the heavens bring no angel’s mercy
He squeals from above her, as a troll before his gate
Heat never burned with a stronger flame
He’s lost control and bitten too hard

The snake crawled into Natti’s bed tonight
It did more than play like yesterday
Tonight it left its seed in a garden.
A garden much too young to grow.

II

Natti’s Mirror

She gazes at her reflection
Many nights from yesterday
She looks without seeing
At the woman she has come to be

Her eyes tell no stories
She closed those doors long before
But if the mirror could speak
This is what you’d hear

‘I’ve known her long and I know her true
Before snakes crawled and the moon spoke
Easing what should never be into what is
A snake’s egg had begun to hatch

Through me
Natti came to understand
When dealing with snakes
All you need, is to learn how to crawl

When angels refuse to save you
Sometimes, to save your soul
You have to kiss the devils hand

She had a choice and she made it with no guilt
She could have given in and died an inward death
Instead she learned to play and ease into her scales
For when one tastes venom, one must accept the bitterness

The snake had an empire and  Natti had the key
No longer did he creep to take what should not to be given
When the son kissed the earth, he taught her to be rich
But when the stars danced, she taught him how to love

She took her shackles
Made them worth their weight in gold
Shackles they remain
But gold is easier to live with than steel

Before me stands a woman
Strong, bold and true
Today she lays to rest her father

He taught her to be rich
She taught him how to love’

III

Natti’s Flight

One day, Natti met Van Whitt
He awoke her slumbering heart
When he blessed her with a kiss,
She felt he saved her from the truth

She would have given him all her riches
But he had plenty of his own
All he ever needed
Was for her to want no more

He gave her two bands
She gave him one in return
He gave her his name
She gave him a son to call his own

Natti Van Whitt dreamed of sinless tomorrows
While today’s passed, the sun danced even at dusk
Van Whitt’s world was complete and whole
But Natti had a secret, one she never could share

Natti began to feel a foreign yet familiar crawl
Within the walls of Utopia, Hades’ spawn had begun to grow
When you’re raised in a snake’s pit
Soon, your own skin will begin to shed

Natti had a hunger not even Van Whitt could fill
When Natti decided to play by snake rules
She ignored the darkest of the snake’s desires
Van Whitt unlocked her heart my dears

He had no way of knowing that within it, slumbering in yesterday
Were the seeds planted on a yesterday far away
He gave birth to her love
The love of what is born from what has always been

To live in her yesterdays, Natti traded in her soul
What she forgot, my dears
Is when you trade in your soul
Eventually, the Devil will collect.

*************************************************

So…

I am currently editing my work but I am at the phase of simply staring at what needs to be done, thinking of how terrible it all is, which is horrendous for the self esteem and leads to nothing being done.

To get me out of my funk, I am going through my gallery and I found this old gem from a writing exercise. It also needs an edit but I like it in its raw state so I am sharing it here today. Its a little miserable but… hopefully it isn’t terrible.

Over and Out!

Imaginary Tea – Own Your Perfection and Be Thankful

 I'm Going Far and Wide
I’m Not Sure What Path I’m Taking Here

 

So…

I’m working on a few short stories and that’s a first for me, I usually handle one project at a time because I thought it allowed me to “give it my best”, but that means I kill ideas because I don’t feel “ready” to flesh them out and that could be a cop out (most likely is). So right now, I am trying to tweak three stories for my first collection of short stories and I’m working on two half stories that involve running away and travel but they are so raw, I have no idea where they are going.

But I digress, today I am sharing two videos because last week I didn’t put up a post. And this week I am typing this while drinking a cup of green Japanese tea. My stash is almost done, nooooo!

First up: When Your Boyfriend Asks You to Strip For Him . Oh my word! Can I just say how much I ‘gasmed over this? I honestly don’t even know. I felt my stomach lurch and my heart flutter when she reached the end, and I swore at her… many times! How dare she make me feel all these damn emotions! Granted I re-watched it multiple times and shared it with everyone I know who would share my feelings. Why don’t we (women) love ourselves more? Why do we project our (imagined) faults onto our partners? I sadly find it very easy to depreciate myself in front of other people especially my physical appearance (not my mind, since I am posting its produce here, overinflated view of my mental abilities). My flesh and bone is “distinctly average” and sometimes I find it hard to believe someone would think I am the sexiest woman in the world because… “c’mon!” Like this morning, I was trying out some yoga and I noticed cellulite on a part of my thigh that I didn’t know it collected and cringed but was fascinated by the fact that it wouldn’t matter to “my person”. Granted I haven’t shown him that particular pose so he hasn’t seen that cellu-pocket (as I like to call it) but wouldn’t it be great if we could see ourselves the way the people who love us see us? That would be amazing. Allow yourself to do that. Somehow. Don’t become an arrogant git but own your “perfection”. Coz we all have a dose of it, so don’t binge but take a sip once in a while.

The Little Things is just a reminder to keep our eyes open to the good things that people around us do. Sadly I can often “miss” the nice things and to those nearest and dearest to me, I love you spades and boatloads. I am thankful for having you in my life and even when I can’t physically help you, know that I think of you, and your nuttiness drives me and my fiction. Whether I am escaping from it or drowning in it.

Thank you so much for getting to the end, I know this is very random… watch the videos. They’ll distract you from the lack of direction going on here.

Over and Out!

Behind Your Teeth – A Poem

I want to fly away on your wings
I want to fly away on your wings

Behind Your Teeth

I hid my secrets behind your teeth
“Your heart beat drives my own”
I hid my secrets behind your teeth
“Let me go and I’m bound to fall”

You’ll never hear me speak
Of dreams I’m prepared to lose
For if I never admit it, I can pretend
That who I was, is who I am still

I tucked my secrets behind your teeth
“Your heart beat drives my own”
I tucked my secrets behind your teeth
“Let me go and I’ll not know my way home”

My need to assert myself?
Its wilting in the blaze of you
If I’m a caterpillar, then you are my cocoon
But I don’t yet know if I’m a moth or butterfly

I buried my secrets behind your teeth
“Your heart beat drives my own”
I buried my secrets behind your teeth
“My legs can no longer carry my weight alone”

There’s a part of me I’ve lost
Its stained beneath your skin
If you give it back to me
I wont know how to make it fit

I planted my secrets behind your teeth
“Your heart beat drives my own”
I planted my secrets behind your teeth
“By your side is where I belong”

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

So…

Last night while convincing myself to fall asleep (its often a debate), replaying Miley’s new video Wrecking Ball, prickles of a poem began poking about in my head. People have “opinions” on the video, I LOVE the song and the “cleanness” of the video works for me. I am putting down my love. The song speaks if you allow yourself to listen.

Now, I haven’t written any fresh poetry in ages. I think my poems dried up when my sister died but I am not entirely sure because it was something we shared. I’d just been struggling to put my feelings down on paper while I dealt with the the relationship I had with her and the kind of relationship I wish we had had. There will be a post about her one of these days but for now, its just the poem. There’s nothing else I want to add because I’m feeling “prickly” and the longer I stare at it, the more likely it is that I wont hit the publish button (even though this poem is not about her, I am not a “mushy” person and this poem is bloody mushy. Dude, I hate you so much right now, you know who you are).

Thank you Miley, for helping me find some poetry again. I don’t know how or why it happened but thank you.

Over and Out!

Peaches and Apples – A Short Story

 

Tree on the Sky byryka
Tree on the Sky by ryka

by Claudie Muchindu

I have a story to share. It’s a less than charming tale of a peach and an apple that grew in orchard and somehow got entwined.

Shall I tell you about the peach first? He is and will always be the only entity that has the power to bring her to less than she is and she has willingly given that power to him. I cannot say whether she had a choice or not but that’s often the way life works, isn’t it?

I‘m  not sure if it’s the way his mouth moves when he isn’t  speaking or the way the air around him moves to accommodate his less than natural ego. Its all of these and none. It’s the way he makes her feel together when he is around and bits and pieces when he leaves. Yet too many nights she has woken up in an empty bed because he couldn’t bring himself to spend the night with her. Too many nights she hasn’t cried because crying is beneath her but the tears have always needed to be shed. They both are what they are. They’re one and yet less then that. How can one be so powerful and yet seem so powerless?

Today will be different. She knows it will. It has to be. She knows she cannot let him put her whole self in a wringer simply by walking through the door. She wonders why she ever gave him her spare key. They pass each other in the corridors as though they were nothing more than two walls coated in different paint not seeing each other from opposite views of the same courtyard; and they might as well be. They have different paint and different textures underneath it all. He will be more than she ever can and they both know that, peaches don’t grow on apple trees and my dears, he is a peach. Apples aren’t necessarily less than peaches but they cant grow on the same branch. Late at night before she nods off she will tell herself that its still all right for them to grow in the same orchard though. There are no laws against peaches and apples in the same orchard.

‘Jon. This bed isn’t big enough for us anymore,’ she whispers. She whispers because she knows he is almost asleep. She can also tell from the line of his back that he is now wide awake. He fakes a moan and she cant resist a smile. Her smile lights her up from within yet she doesn’t know. He’s never told her. She thinks she knows him better than he even knows himself but what can an apple know of being a peach? She places a hand on his back, her fingers are always cold but he’s never flinched to her touch. The warmth coming off him makes her feel she has been living a solitary winter and that there may be a summer at the end of it after all. He makes her heart smile as only he can, when he is being himself without trying. She doesn’t see the beauty in that simple vision, her hand on his back that is. She knows not the warmth of her cocoa essence on his paler than pale torso. He’s never told her that he’s never felt the cold in her fingers. He feels only the heat that her earth tones capsized his sails with long before he knew her name. He’s never told him he would stop being a peach for her and her being an apple, has never thought to ask.

She sees nail marks and a frown creases her flawless face before she can stop it. He has told her she should frown less but all she can think is she shouldn’t have gotten carried away this much. The marks on his back will leave an unsightly mass in the morning, she stares at her nails. Yes. There’s skin under there. A final testament to why she should learn to tone herself down. She kisses the marks even though she knows her lips wont take them away. It’s a beautiful yet less than beautiful sight to behold and there’s a magic in the path she lays on his marked back. He doesn’t yet know that those welts have blessed him but he will when he has a shower and he wont feel their pain though. He’ll feel agony caused by the fact that she isn’t in the shower with him.

You see, while peaches and apples aren’t able to grow on the same branch, sometimes, when they are in the same orchard they reach out to each other and even though neither can know what it is to be the other, they understand what it is to not fully be what they are meant to. But as I said in the beginning, this isn’t a happy love story, it’s a tale of apples and peaches and how they can reach out to each other and yet still hold back and not completely give into to making an altogether new fruit salad. These two have and they both know that they have gone beyond where they should have allowed it to go but they don’t know they words to say to each other to make the transgression survivable. Peaches and apples don’t speak the same language but they can sometimes hear the same voices.

He turns to her now and her heart leaps in her less than fleshy prison. He takes her less than freezing fingers and hold them to his lips. ‘I can buy you a new one.’ he whispers into her hand and she looks at his eyes. He means it and she knows. He is trying to speak apple and that doesn’t make her happy.It makes her eternally sad because she knows that he could never really be one. ‘No bed will be big enough for us.’ she murmurs into his face as she nudges closer to him and he blinks. Twice. Quickly. He does that when he’s thinking of what to say to her. She takes her free hand and tries to print his face on to it. He has warm brown Asian eyes; eyes that speak when his mouth doesn’t know the words to say. His nose is strong but unassuming; his mouth is wide but doesn’t swallow his face. When he lets himself laugh it’s a magical sight and one she has burned onto her mind. He isn’t smiling now though. His lips are moving but words aren’t coming from them and that’s ok too.

She pulls her now more than warm hand away and he gazes into her more than Godly face. No, there are no known Goddesses’ who have come close to the  vision that shares her less than large bed. She has eyes that are lighter than his, in a face with a mouth that often twinges in an attempt to smile. Its almost as though her eyes and her lips were constantly engaged in some form of mythical warfare. To see her eyes on their own you would see dancing tales told in wisps of vibrant colour and they would draw you in before you had a chance to save yourself. He is a bit deluded to think that his eyes could have been saved from the insanity of hers. He had no hope that first day when she sat at his table. Their branches crossed then and became entwined. Yet now, it seems time has come to release the vines from the more than healthy hold.

They lay there wrapped in their world of impure madness. Their lips touch one last time as they both know it is that final embrace before they have to let go. His fingers lace around her more than slender neck and her hands wrap around his back. They have already forgotten not to cause too much damage. Bruising is the least of their concerns. One last time the peach and apple dance in the wind and then let go. There’s some lingering. He wants her to ask him to stay, he will if only she will ask. She never will though. She’s never asked a man to share her bed and she never will. It just can never cross her mind.

He clothes himself as she lays in her now too large a bed. Her burnt mahogany skin looks like a dessert against the white cotton sheets; a sweet indulgence you’ll soon wish you could forget. Her hair is a tussled mess and her face shows the love it has just been subjected to. He leaves his key on his pillow; for it will always be his even though he will no longer lay there. The door closes behind him without a hint of restraint.  The peach has left the apple alone on her branch, or so it seems.

She lays back, the cold has returned to her fingers as she places them on her belly.

‘Daddy was a peach
Mummy was an apple.
Before they had a chance to rot
The apple told the peach to go
They both wanted him to stay
But he had to leave.

Little one,
You can never be either
Fully a peach
Or fully an apple

If I could wish and pray I will
I’d ask you not
To become an apple like your mother
And instead to
Be a peach like your father’

She chants lyrically to herself as she rolls over. She will tell her little one about her peach of a father but the peach himself will never know that he planted a peach seed in an apple and it had begun to grow.