When Asian Pears split,
little white arteries
called “feelings” reveal themselves.
They smell like mercury and attract
dust at a cosmic rate. An astronaut
is a body who collects pear halves
that don’t necessarily fit together,
then sews them into one.
The task requires an artist’s hands--
as pricking is inevitable. Only an artist
would accept that kind of beating
for a sense of completion. Blood-
soaked sutures are also more durable
and fend off a pear’s natural predators
like land sharks, murder frogs, or monks.
Some monks, brave or hungry enough,
snub the blood and eat the fruit
right off the ground like some kind of prehistoric
fruit Roomba. Monks who feed overwhelm
their abdomens—a song wells in their throat:
“The Parable of the Barometer in the Soul,”
and they sing it together in every train station,
because trains resemble our bobbing meniscus.
Three-hundred years later, scholars will scoff at this discovery.
Geramee Hensley is from Cleveland, Ohio. He attends Capital University where he has taught a portion of a creative writing class. He is Co-Editor-in-Chief of Capital's student literary magazine, ReCap and Managing Editor of the student newspaper, The Chimes. His work has been featured in Souvenir Lit Journal.