i squashed the pear (translating ich hatte die birne zertreten)

walking through the field in sugar-stockings
I squashed the pear
i’m afraid it wasn’t my fault
its skin was so soft
it would’ve bruised with the slightest touch
and i figured it would soon
reunite with the earth
the shards of a broken pot fitting back together
i opened the pear
i could never reproduce
the way it trembled

I’ll Never Pull It Together (transletting ich hatte die birne zertreten)

I’m bloodsoaked in the meadow

of crushed bulbs, broken up over the tears

in my novelty socks. I’m screaming

at the top of my lungs, it’s the closest

I can mimic the sound of glass

shattering. The world is full of

light but I can’t help myself, I’m too small

to reach the attic. I’m afraid

I’ll never pull it together. It’s scary, really

how easy it is to ruin something

for good—but I tell myself that it’s natural.

Natural means nobody’s fault.

have you already struck root?

in fear : in prayer
keep the clamor out
keep your eyes off the lake

keep your feet on the sliding bank your feet on the bank do not give in
under : stood

this balancing act
this walking the line
every muscle tensed

have you already struck root?

as if on the soil’s other Side every secret were exhumed
and cast off into a chasm as thin as split ends

the mandarin peels

the way back is lined
with mandarin peels

their skin shared with asphalt
if not for the headwind and if they were smoke

they’d stand up like breath in the air
straight and tall as candlesticks