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the
fruits of mothers’ labor
yet
untouched and ripening
am
I to be the center or you?
perhaps
an eye or tooth is meaningless
time
space gravity
threads
of fate unsnipped
the
center mine or yours
the
choice ours
who
will be the wine who the
raisin?
the
vat or drying screen
feet
all round
balled
and heeled to pulp
strained
and filtered then
bottled
and shelved
or
naked sun worshipper
arranged
on screen
burnt
eyes and shriveled then
boxed
and shelved
each
awaits the opening of hunger
the
skewered cork the peeled back
cardboard
the
fruits of mothers’ labor
unshelved
and open
to
the air of home untouched by human hands
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