Is an Olive Worth a Poem?

Monday midday 5th of May An olive rests on a plate Oval on a circle, casting green as shadow. What is she worth in this life?

Does she need to strip her olive skin expose her stone for hungry eyes Get swallowed, stripped bare, spat out with no care?

Is an olive worth a poem? Does she need to play a part? Sit beside a dry martini Knowing her place, on edge, for a drink, plat de resistance A side show, side kick, for a James Bond— aside in someone else’s story

Is this olive worth a poem? Become symbol stretching back her roots to a branch. phantom limb of peace in a palm? Or hold chains, green pearl bonding roots and branches In a necklace of trees pulling times before antiquity and a future not yet worn

Is this olive worth a poem? Does she need to stand against occupation? Zaytoun, drop of sun, sucked from rocks Filled with sweat to fend off dried empires

Is Olive worth a poem? Isn’t she book already? One that nature reads in 3D Living words spelling tree CAGT On pages doubly stranded Awaiting to spin the tale of the sapling raised by sun, soil and sweat

Is Olive more than a poem? Isn’t she a knot of stories At the seams of yours and my imagination A thread to unravel stanzas and poems?

Can an olive be worthy without invoking, alluding, performing.

Are we olives? Are we poems?