Apricot Pit Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Apricot pit

I purchased apricots
Not green but not ripe
Has no taste of the past.

Then we went to trees
Picked with hand
Their cheeks were like the girls'
Powdered, red, had blush.

Again I think of seeds, or the pits
And my thoughts on the wings
Memories and those seen.

My mother collected all of pits
She knew the bitter and sweet
All of them apricots', varied shapes.

She bundled, heated them
Then in cold she chilled them
Cold current did its work, sweetened

Oh past, past
Oh past, past
Oh past, past

Sorry, sad to see you forgotten
Our claim: "Be modern…."
Is dumbness; ignorance
If the past is wasted
No lesson is obtained
And trashed…forgotten…