Omar Sakr

Sky Orchards (or, The Hazards of Being A Fruit)

It is astonishing how many people risk dying 
In order to see something new. Or to return 
To memory and see if time has watered it into a sea 
Monkey or whether there is still feeding to be done 
Yet. I know we have done this since the beginning, 
Braving oceans in canoe and deserts on camel back, 
And probably perishing more often for far less. 
Still it seems more natural to me—can a thing be 
Less than natural, if it exists at all?—to die 
On the ground or beneath a wave than to fall 
From the sky. God do not mistake me for a fruit 
Waiting to be borne to the earth on the wind. 
I have sometimes lost myself in an orchard, 
Sore among rows of sameness being picked at— 
Something to be bitten, something seeded. 
See the teeth marks on my neck, beloved? 
Having known it once I want to know it again, 
The fear of being consumed to the core. 
I risk the past and future for the convenience 
Of getting to or from somewhere. Sooner 
Than my ancestors did, I risk life itself hoping 
I will not be punished for dreaming a sweeter 
Flesh into body, for betting the world against 
gravity’s hunger and my own.