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.

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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