Slow Poem 1

Wisdom is Not

Husbands are very tall and filled with grief,
squirrels caught in mousetraps, nuts out of reach.
And day by day, the fruit in bunches hangs lower and lower,
growing pregnant with the heavy burden of juice.
But suddenly, from beneath the recycling bin,
a messiah. A message. An immaculate conception of truth
in the form of a small, brown rat, his beady yellow eyes
shining with the wisdom of a thousand years.
But really, wisdom is only hunger,
and the fruit bursts, rotten, on the ground.
Whatever. We grow weary. There is coffee.

-Collaboration with Sunshine from Art Art Bo Bart


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