Once I Started a Poem with…

Once, while dancing the dance with some form of intoxication, I started a poem with:

“I tasted God in a peach”.

And, now, semi-sober, I find the whole idea quite bemusing. The implication of not only touching God but of tasting them too, as if they could possibly be something my measly tastebuds could fathom, let alone recognize as peach-like. I guess, in theory, if one were able to bear the taste of God, perhaps they could taste like peaches.

It’s definitely a good fruit, different from the forbidden apple but suggestive otherwise. 

And the imagery is suggestive in the biblical sense…isn’t it? Peaches, in their perky attitudes, and tastebuds, somehow being like God. The Saints would have a fit. I think I can hear them spinning in their graves, their combined outrage a force strong enough to power the Vatican. Eco-friendly, holy, and renewable. Finally doing something for the good of the people with all that time on their hands.

Once, I started a poem with:

“My phone is a graveyard”

this sentiment was the byproduct of a strange sensation.

Let me set the scene.

I’ve mostly had iPhones for most of my cellphone using life. But there’s been a few times when I had Androids. Anyway at this time I had had my Android for about two or three years and had decided to swap it out for an iPhone. Well, when I did the swap, a contact (and contact info) that should not have been there suddenly appeared.

My father’s.

You see, my father died in 2011, and at that moment he had been long gone for about nine or so years. I haven’t had his contact information for several years, I vividly remember deleting all of that at one point because it’s a heavy weight to hold on to.

Well, fast forward to winter 2020 and here I am setting up my new phone, when right in front of me is my dead dad’s email, cellphone number, and photo.

What an odd sensation.

The ghost of a loved one comes back to haunt me through my device. It’s a bit of a shock too, surprised that such a memory should be held so dearly by cellular technology. 

I once started a poem with…a lot of bad opening lines.

That’s how you get better at writing.

Doing it very poorly at first.

Telling yourself stories, in rough blogs and journals

And reflecting on it later.