12/11

in the tomato forest

we once threw red like mornings.
your body an acidic mouthful.
do you remember when you craved salt
& so i opened a packet on your tongue?
those were enough nights
to salvage me. love is waterwheel.
the river pushes forward & forgets
her face. in the forest there are
no functioning mirrors. you need
to touch your face to remember it's there.
my cellphone rings with the past.
i pick up to listen to the sound
of baked tomatos. breadcrumbs furrowed
& sweet. my face splits open.
you tell me you are going to be
home late again. i quarter the tomatoes.
i halve the tomatos. the vines wrap
around each tree. everyone's thighs
are bruised from work. 
you never saw how high the trees 
could get. all full of their hunger.
i plant more & more each day in tight rows.
mandalas of tomato heavens.
the red i loved you with & the red
i have now are two different reds.
now, deeper, my tomatoes 
are heirloom. pleated & ancient.
puckered as if to ask for roots.
what i hope for is that one day
you return & knock on the door.
pretend i am a perfect stranger 
& say, "i found this for you
while wandering in the wood."
you will be holding a tomato.
i will take you in.

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