Less of the More

in our wake,
the invisible corrodes the tangible.

our bodies akin to 
pockets of alveoli:  absorbing,    spreading,

and demanding 	more.

more of everything:
more of time, more of love, more of money, 
more of more. 
say it enough, and 	more, 
devolves into    less.

this More, it coats the air we breathe. 
a concoction of our own vices
struck dumb
by bleating and braiding. 
by comfort in the comfortable. 

Perhaps we need Less of the more. 

To scrape it from our air	to scrape it from ourselves
   To leap at the glory of fingernail grime
      To realize that what we really need
				is more
				     of  Less. 
Dump Bucket

What if:
the Earth was a globe of a Grape
popped from the galaxy’s vine
into your eager mouth?

Would you need a sommelier 
to identify the corporeal flavors?

“An eclectic bouquet of golden grass and bitter 
   beliefs, with a frenzied finish.”

If the gods were real:
would they press the planets 
beneath their feet to ferment the collective 
juices in fine oak barrels? 

Perhaps we are only microbes floating about
in the viscous gel of a larger being.

We are microbes of microbes:
dividing and replicating while our larger collective 
seeks the heart of the galaxy or 
the brain of the cosmos.

Who among us are pathogens disguised,
aiming our Grape toward ruin? 

The swish and spit:
   not to spite tomorrow’s wine, 
   but to embrace the glory of its slow surprise.

About the author:

Shauna AV Gunnell is a writer from the American West. She is greatly inspired to craft works that speak to the intersectionality of her mixed-race background and her experiences with medical motherhood. Her poetry and creative nonfiction have appeared in Metaphor and are forthcoming in Avalon Literature & Arts Magazine. Her next adventure will be attending graduate school for a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing.

Feature image by Milad Fakurian on Unsplash