One

by Mary Peelen

Foliage of the Warren pear
is shiny as light.

Red-shifted at dusk,
the sun's last scatter of photons

gathers from each leaf
a thousand shades of green.

Blue jays got the pears
before they were ripe,

pecked them full of holes,
all but one.

Mathematics
can't prove everything.

Gödel proved that some things
are a matter of faith.

When I come to you
offering one small green pear,

I'm asking you to believe in
every green there is,

at every hour.
The whole tree.

 

Mary Peelen, MDiv, MFA, is a poet whose work has appeared in Michigan Quarterly Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. She lives in San Francisco. This poem was originally published in the Summer/Autumn 2014 issue of the Bulletin.

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