THIS PEACH
THIS peach
is ready, ripe, and
writhing in my mouth
like an infinite
ocean of sweetness
as the bits of
solid fruit melt
into juice with no resistance
I remember my Grandmother
in her kitchen
surgically dissecting
a peach
bite by bite
with a knife
she speared each slice
s l o w l y
and neatly ate
the sacred fruit
I knew this was important
business to be done
Her trance
focused carefully on each sliver
taking each bite
as though
it brought
Revelations of Paradise
Today
I willing join that religion
with this very peach
It has made me a convert
with everlasting faith
and in my last moments
I will ask only
for a
PEACH
4 thoughts on "THIS PEACH"
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Honest, makes me want to reach for a peach . . . ever a highlight of summer . . . thanks Ann brings me to sweet memories . . .
🙂
Ah lovely Ann, I just bought three fresh peaches at our farmer’s market. Yep, peaches in the summer are about the best thing… in the whole world.
Oh yes we need more poems about peaches! I am a big fan of Pennsylvania peaches. At one time lived near Gettysburg that has amazing peaches—they come late in summer. Paul’s market in Louisville gets them, wonderful poem, dripping with lushness.