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the fruits of mothers’ labor

yet untouched and ripening


am I to be the center   or you?

perhaps an eye or tooth is meaningless


time  space  gravity

threads of fate unsnipped


the center mine   or yours

the choice ours


who will be the wine   who the raisin?

the vat or drying screen


feet all round

balled and heeled to pulp


strained and filtered then

bottled and shelved


or naked sun worshipper

arranged on screen


burnt eyes and shriveled then

boxed and shelved


each awaits the opening of hunger

the skewered cork  the peeled back cardboard


the fruits of mothers’ labor

unshelved and open


to the air of home

untouched by human hands

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