Picking peaches on the hillside of an
old homestead, curling myself into the
curve and reaching,

I know my back will hurt
all night, but it’ll be worth it to
taste the richness from forgotten soil,

bright sun-soaked juice lingering on
my tongue like a ghost of long ago
groceries before stores and tv ads,

before processed sugar dominated
every item on our kitchen shelves.
It wakes something stored in my DNA, and

my body remembers an imprinted desire
to forage food real and green and
growing close to home.