Bruise

A poem is a fruit
      you grow from seed.

You give it everything
      you think it needs,

but you don't know 
      how long it will take

to ripen, or if it will.
      You are ashamed of all

the things you took,
      or took for granted.

You want to know how
      to make it up, to make

it better. The fruit 
      is patient. You are

no gardener after all. And
      the leaves that fall off

exude such fragrance,
      even when crushed.