IN WHICH MY LIFE IS SAVED BY A RIPE TOMATO
by Tatum Mann

I don’t even slice it, I simply
bite into it like an apple, the seeds
bursting like the bootleg fireworks
my grandfather lit for us in his backyard
so many summers ago.

I finish the tomato in two bites, and walk to the
porch where I can sit and watch
the cherry blossoms and forsythia shift
in the warm afternoon air.

My brother calls to tell me that
he left his bedroom window open all day
and now the whole house
smells like rain. 

Tatum Mann is a hermit, poet, and spinach enthusiast based in New Orleans, Louisiana.  Her poetry explores identity, and how it changes in relationships and in isolation.  Her second body of work, STIR CRAZY is available now, and can be purchased through her Instagram, @hermitlady.