Peeling Persimmons Poem by Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

22 December 2015 1: 15 a.m.

Listening to silence, sipping coffee, peeling persimmons
and you, a stranger to the dance and the music, in my mind,
a drop of rain on my body and soul, turning everything fresh
and green, speaking in the silence and the spaces between words,
drinking tea, and biting on fresh dates, maybe.

Maybe. Because, i don't really know you
maybe i made you up, in that warm and humid part of me
where fireflies crawl on blades of grass, and fly on branches
of trees that dance at midnight, where the forest meets the lake.

for a brief moment, i smell the light of distant stars,
and ride on moonbeams to fly beyond,
without eating anything, drinking anything,
but the thought of peeling, ripened persimmons.