Sunday, May 30, 2010


A brown woven basket - old and cracked -

held soft, furry peaches:

(a shy fruit, each piece snuggling its beard into the next).

Take one, she said. Take two.
Alone at the laundromat,
I put the yellow peaches
in the dark green seat beside me (to hold -- your place).
I brought them home
and saw they were beginning to bruise.
I stood at the cutting board without any pants on
and cut them into slices,
watching the juice seep into the worn wood,
carefully examining each piece with fingers and mouth.

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