Sweet Promises

Unadorned and crammed looser than I want

The rattle is loud, and the promise is less.


I like the darker, denser ones

But I’ve always been like that

Lighter colored ones lack that certain sweetness

That comes from long hours in the sun

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking

With no rhyme or reason.


Memories shake loose with each rattle—

I search for the right hole to cradle these sweet promises

Ready to give it up at the swing of a heavy hammer

And near misses of small fingers

Or a poke in the eye from hard bits.


Some say these are no longer local

And come from offshore as far as Australia

Maybe San Diego

But if local kine memories still come

It’s not fake Aloha.



(macadamia nuts)


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