AboutThis blog features vegetarian sauropods and other things that amuse me.
Were I to teach a course on God
I would begin with a plate of persimmons—
The sweet, crisp kind, the ones more
Orange than red: the hard, squat Fuyus
I eat each November morning on hot
Wheat cereal with almonds.
I would slice the persimmons gently
Across their fat centers, then hold them
Out. See the star shape? I would
Offer them, so all might wonder.
I would slice brown Bosc pears
Straight down their middles,
So the threads of each stem
Trace wispily down to that rounded
Place where dark seeds lie, tear-shaped
And wet in white, firm flesh.
I would hold these halves
Silently forward, their bottoms smooth
In the curves of my palms.
I would teach God with plates of pomegranates,
Both before they were opened and after.
I would bring wet washcloths.
We would bury our faces and eat:
All that luminescent purple-red,
Those clear-bright kernels fitted in tight rows
On small and tumbling hills—
And all that juice, so easily broken, sweet
And puckery at once. We would say nothing.
I would teach this way:
With plates of fruit, a knife;
Many washcloths. With my eyes
Very large; my mouth mostly silent,
So all might eat.