A very rough attempt -- but I think it might become something.

The heart is the size of a pear
and about the same shape. Suddenly

it's 341 A.D. and St. Augustine, as yet
unsainted, is a boy

stealing pears. It is 1962
and I am eight, climbing the pear tree

in our backyard and ripping my dress.
It is 2010 and a boy in Kazakstan

runs down a lane of wild pears.
His heart is beating hard.

The pears glow like gold,
like hearts. "It was foul,"

St. Augustine would later write.
"And I loved it. I loved my own undoing."


  1. I love this. What do you dislike about it?

  2. Um...I think it's the word "suddenly" and soemthing screwy about the "would later write" in the penultimate line. I'll mess around with it some more, though, and give it a title. Then maybe...

  3. I love this too and I am Augustinian Janet.


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