Buying a peach
is a gamble.
Biting into it
you often find
the dried out fibrous
meat, as if some
alien had come
to suck out its
juice and flavor
and left only a
stringy container.
Rare is slicing
into the downy cheek
when you find the
marigolden meat
saturated with
its perfect peachy
essence.
That’s when you’re
so glad you had
decided to buy two
rather than just one.
You savor each slice
standing at the kitchen
counter, not even
pausing to sit down,
and dream of heavy
late summer air
fragrant with ripe fruit
and spent flowers
the buzz of wasps
joyously ominous
the dry grass slick
under your feet.
It’s hard to save
the other one for
breakfast.
09/11/08, revised 09/14/08 and 09/15/08
yes! and all that dreaming adds so much, the buzz of yesteryears and all the peaches one has plucked on from the staff of life, "spent flowers/ the buzz of wasps/ joyously ominous/ the dray grass slick/ under your feet". i was THERE, woman. what a treat. what a peach. xoxoox
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