This summer’s harvest has come and gone
The fruits of my labors have been picked clean
The fall has begun and already
The places where juicy fruits once stood have been taken and
eaten
Each bite of the delectable fruit
Of its own origination
Of its own color
Of its own flavor
Of its own texture
Of its own size
All different
Yet grew the same
I remember when I walked the garden and spoke to the heavens
for bounty
For harvest to be plentiful and it yielded
A gratifying answer to my supplications
With which I have been fed well
Now the garden is naked and my belly is empty and echoes...
A growl
