you never get to choose endings
in the way you think you will
(I keep rummaging for the bow
for the thing that will tie it all together
and coming up empty-handed,
there are always loose ends left
in the end)
today impulsively I pay an exorbitant amount
for a pitahaya sliced in two wrapped in plastic wrap
in the supermarket
(I see it and it reminds me of you, provenance: Ecuador)
and as I dip my spoon into the flesh I think how it looks like
the inverse of the night sky, I think of your descriptions of
looking at the stars from the porch of the farm
a view that was too far for me to ever go to
and I imagine you and your father growing these fruits
how it felt to pull one from a tree, to test its ripeness,
and now on the table in front of me
scooped out leaving only a dark pink skin
it looks somewhat like
a heart.
