• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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Learning the art of balancing

The sweet-sour clementine balances on top
of a giant blue whale. Stuck
in position. Not glued on, and yet somehow
rooted there.
Somehow, even when there are earthquakes,
the sweet-sour clementine that is
sometimes too sweet and sometimes too sour
remains, lodged there, on a giant C-shaped
blue whale.

The sticky-blue whale does not see
what the sweet-sour clementine does.
It knows no magic.
It curves its tail up towards the sky,
as if bent in prayer.
Worshipping something,
a something it doesn't know but
feels in the weight of what lies beneath,
a something that lifts it up.

The sweet-sour clementine sees the something,
the magic of what lies beneath them.
A rich-black mound of earth,
of glitter and hope.
A black hole of never-ending possibilities.
An emptiness, that does not see its own greatness.
For the black mound only sees the sticky-blue C,
holding up the sweet-sour clementine
and marvels at its power.