Image Credit

On the road to Baalbeck we
stopped for apricots, ate them warm
bottled water rinse of fuzzy flesh
farmer at his stand showing teeth
as we sank ours to the stone.

Pits in palms and back to the road
back in time to ruin, remains, remnants
some other family's memories, feet to
stone pits in our stomachs --no fencing
to prevent death quicker than my heart

when I had to leave. I remember
my uncle smiling into the leaves
his hands as he fed me mulberries
purple-inked fingertips, bruise in my eyes
as I cast them between home and dreaming.

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