Ho' oponopono

We sit and try to talk.
Paradise is down the hall,
far beyond the exit door.
Pineapple had traveled
all the way, all the way here.
I’d rather travel to it.
Rather outside sit.
See the sea, and feel
the mist.

But then again,
everything’s so close.
I can feel it.
Close as Kansas City to here.
Close as Kansas
to Missouri.
So much missed
being so far from you.
And we share it from a dish.

And the illness of my heart
hurts all of me
but we smile somehow
over the pineapple.
I forget the reasons
I tried to stop loving you.
Because I’ve never stopped.

Maybe forgiveness is my start
healing all of me.
And divided islands cluster
sliver by segment,
by carved wedge,
piece by peace.

Published in Tipton Poetry Journal, Summer, 2016

Written by Joe Bisicchia on 19/03/19
© 2016 Joe Bisicchia

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