Posts Tagged ‘prose poems’

A brief history of triangles in one of my prose poems, published earlier this week at The Camel Saloon. Sometimes time helps us forget, but often words help us remember what was.

Triangles

are the crowned shapes. They were the earliest markings upon the walls, the beginning dribbles of art. “Pubic triangles” ancients called women’s reproductive organs before language grew immature. But some mummified opinion will say we are born from holes. Yes, circles bring us into life but all those circles lay at the center of closed v’s. More than God knows why Egyptian monuments aren’t pentagons. It wasn’t a crash that placed healthy eating inside of a pyramid. Aristotle understood the golden imprint a three-sided structure leaves upon a story.  A trapezoid must be a trapezoid. A square must be square or it risks being mistaken for a rectangle. But a triangle is a contortionist, able to shrink and expand and change while never changing. No matter the exterior conditions, the interior of a triangle will remain constant. We should all be turned green by the inner perfection of such a flexible shape.

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Below is one of my prose poems that was published earlier this week at The Camel Saloon. It goes through a brief history of the apple, the most taboo of fruits.

Apples

filled us with sin before we were even seeds. The protrusion in our throats is proof of this. Yet it is hard to stand over the understanding that what was once forbidden to eat is now recommended to eat daily. No other fruit can claim to keep the doctor away as well as God. The power of this rounded edibleness rests in its ability to lift the curtain on the strength of good and evil: one rotten apple spoils all the rest rotten whereas one good apple never polishes those ones of a rotten nature. But what of the insects that lay their eggs inside these apples? And where, if not underground, would the story of Snow White exist without a poisoned apple? Being the apple of one’s eye has nothing to do with apples and yet still the phrase speaks of their majesty. The apple really may not fall far from the tree, but when there are no more trees, where will the apples fall? Only the core may know that answer, or at least whoever planted those first seeds which roamed free.