A Certain Ripeness Poem by RIC BASTASA

we hold on
to what makes us feel
alive

we keep a tight
hand in the form
of rooting
fingers
like some vines
upon an
old tree

or an orchid
hanging there
with so much
color and
beauty

we sometimes
take the shape of a
fist
on the other
hand
if
needed
just to keep
it
going


but life has its
own life
its own time
frame too

and death has its
own
unique contour
that arrives
at you
sometimes
as a
surprise

i can call it
ripeness

some call
it
inevitability

or reality from
a philosophical
point of
view

i see it as a very
ripe fruit
that falls from a
tree of bounty

and then a child comes
running
to pick it up
and begins to
peel it
and bite
and
swallow

because it is luscious
because it is so sweet.