Bruised Plums #240

bruising-after-getting-breast-implants

They were unpromising
Words grated like cheese
Words reduced to small shreds
Words strung like pasta
Tossed like a salad
Thrown together with a pinch of thyme
And oregano
The other morsels were small
Irritants
Acidic
Tomatoes, garlic, and onions
Barely noticeable to the tall ones
Their necks stretched out in the clouds
They see the aged with grey hair as mere babies
Standing in need of correction
Their wisdom is tossed in the air like pizza dough
Nothing taste decent until it’s heated up
They baked her in the oven with egg wash on her face
Disgraced
My Father took a cloth and removed their lipstick
It was bruised plum number 240
She barely noticed any longer
She was singing songs in her head while their lips moved
Dodi li va-ani lo, ha-roeh
Bashoshanium
Thinking of her husband’s mouth splattered in paint
Paintball guns blasting colors at different ones
With our tongues
Sweetened by the juice of a pomegranate

What if our hearts were exposed in our ribcage?
What if they glowed red with rage when angered?
And the whole world knew?
Or turned black when we had hate
And the whole room prayed
in tongues

Where would we hide from our colors?

Of green with envy

What if they tuned pink like the sun setting when we felt loved
And loved our neighbors as ourselves
What if we all leaped over the hills
Dancing among the lilies
With our Beloved
Who washes our bruised plums

Until

Our hearts are as glowing amber