an almond weighs as much as an almost
when it sits in your hand, brown, guileless
and when it crunches in between your teeth
and leaves its skin in your smile
almonds are the past;
the smell of a kitchen, the taste of flaky pastries,
the bitter tang of things left unsaid
almonds are untrue;
they want to be nuts, but they are not.
only i know the truth. i hold it close to my chest
almonds are cultivated;
they’re not found in the wild anymore,
we keep them to ourselves selfishly, we do not share
almonds are slow;
give them time, let them sprout into a beauty
or hold them tight to your chest and watch them rot
maybe next time i hold an almond, i will throw it out into the world
or maybe i will crunch it again
and let my teeth stain almond-skin-brown with regret.
I wrote this for the Scholastic Art and Writing competition and got a silver key!