Published in The Pigeon Parade Quarterly: Heal
The molding banana pepper Sits, deflated, in the crisper drawer. I wish I could wave a hand over it And restore it to a past life. Back to when it was plump and spicy, Or a bulge swelling off a stem. Now any vitality that remains Is food for microscopic scavengers. I bury the pepper so it can start fresh. Split its soul into several bulges, leaves, stems. Find preservation in the regeneration of generations, Seek immortality between tomatoes and romaine.