by Michael Dechane
A yellow tomato comes apart at the seam my knife makes. This skin: how can it hold so well so much? I salt the weeping flesh that reflects this morning light.
Rye bread, just turned, just lightly become my toast — I break it, too, and it blesses the tomato with fine crumbs. I smell seeds of a plant I have never seen.
The egg, softly boiled, my reverent joy for peeling it — I hold it warm and whole outside its shattered shell. It was another thing before, will open again, be another, yet.
Michael Dechane is a practiced writer, videographer, and public speaker. Motionpoems published his interviews with Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Stephen Dunn and filmmaker Matt Craig in their Season 5 episodes. He is currently studying Poetry in the MFA program at Seattle Pacific University.
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