America Ripening

Contributor

I am a pendulum

I rock back and forth to a lullaby ticking down the seconds I have left to live

Too little time to make something of myself but enough time to ignite my curiosity

I siphon fruit from the tree while it’s still firm and place it on a shelf,

Hoping it will soften.

I am a pendulum

I oscillate between extremes without pause to establish significance

Awake I do not recognize myself sleeping; while I sleep I dream of who I am awake

I package myself into a syringe and inject, then safely dispose of my body where nobody can see,

Hoping it will soften.

I am a pendulum

I am being sublimated by my surroundings while gas gathers beneath my lenses

Blurring my perception of what’s worth fighting for; burning misconceptions of what’s worth waiting for

Through the vapors I hear the shrieks of my neighbors walking on a bed of dull nails under a hard rain

Hoping it will soften.

I am a pendulum

I am the arc that bends back onto itself, compacting my aggression and fear into a dense pellet

That I can dissolve in a glass of object impermanence

I am marooned in a parched mirage clinging to a concrete slab

Hoping it will soften

I am a pendulum

I live inside a grandfather clock in your grandmother’s house, shielded by a glass door

Do you have enough energy to wind me up again?

I see you planting seeds of patient complacency in the desert ground,

Hoping it will soften.