i hold a seed
the size of an almond
in my fist
a dried out husk
covered in thorns
when i squeeze
it pierces my flesh
the soft spot
below my thumb
i bleed
i squeeze harder
feeling the bite
the seed is thirsty
but i won’t be
enough
to satisfy it
though it would
certainly blossom
and bear terrible fruit
crimson drops decorate
the floor
the sizes and shapes
of cherry blossoms
i contemplate
tossing it into the fire
–being done with it
–being free of it
but i worry
i will miss
having something to feed
i will miss
the feedback of that sting