Tuesday, July 12, 2022


Feeling small
and shriveled
and useless 

as an apple's
mealy core—
you decide, 

in that moment, 
to capitulate 
and just retire—

to rest, 
out of sight, someplace dark 
for a while—

hoping to shore up 
all the scraps of whatever 
substance might be left 

and condense them
into an eventual 
(if reluctant) reemergence 

at such time as 
you can manage, however slow 
and testilty, 

to admit that, 
while you still don't 
feel great, 

you're now at least 
once again 
reasonably sure 

you feel present 
and accounted for, 
and extant, here and now,

and every bit as necessary
as an apple's 
mealy core.