by Michael Dechane
A yellow tomato comes apart at the seam
my knife makes. This skin: how can it hold
so well so much? I salt the weeping flesh
that reflects this morning light.
Rye bread, just turned, just lightly become
my toast — I break it, too, and it blesses
the tomato with fine crumbs. I smell seeds
of a plant I have never seen.
The egg, softly boiled, my reverent joy
for peeling it — I hold it warm and whole
outside its shattered shell. It was another thing
before, will open again, be another, yet.
Michael Dechane is a practiced writer, videographer, and public speaker. Motionpoems published his interviews with Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Stephen Dunn and filmmaker Matt Craig in their Season 5 episodes. He is currently studying Poetry in the MFA program at Seattle Pacific University.