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."
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."
I love this. What do you dislike about it?
ReplyDeleteUm...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...
ReplyDeleteI love this too and I am Augustinian Janet.
ReplyDelete