At times we believe
we have been wronged, so perfectly
and bankrupted, that someone must
come to redress us
and does so—
a stranger appearing
who reveals an exit door
inside a still life
scene of tables,
in a darkly draped room,
a stranger like this one
who holds an apricot
to my mouth. One that I’ve
been staring at for hours,
so to consecrate my mouth
as a shrine for protection.
Such joy to not give that fruit
the kind of death
it desired—it felt like I had a plan.
But really most of us
need to be slapped.