each wrong turn leaves a scar
on the stippled lining of my psyche
so when i turned around abruptly and
knocked the avocado from your hands
i stuttered an apology and tried to explain
about wrong turns and scars
while a blemish crept across
the surface of the peach i was holding
but wrong turns are not all random events
you said as you surveyed the produce in my basket
our meeting here might yield fruit of unknown sweetness
you whispered between the lines of your own apology
then you explained how each wrong turn leaves a bruise
on the plum-smooth surface of your psyche
we blushed strawberry red when we realized
how much we were alike
you asked how many wrong turns i thought
might have led us to that aisle
i asked how often we might have crossed paths
and not been aware of it
we each wondered how many scars and bruises
we had accumulated during the years
that preceded our coincidental meeting
among cherries and pears and jalapeno peppers
then we turned and went our separate ways
with our blemished fruit and wounded psyches
still I sometimes wonder how many wrong turns
we each have made since that chance encounter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem