California on my mind

Peaches

By Connie Wanek

I have eaten peach after peach

without hesitation or apology, and each

was a disappointment. Outwardly,

they looked ideal, smooth as a pony muzzle

or pool table felt, sunset colored,

and when I held them I sensed

either their heartbeats or my own.

I overbought, too, thinking how lovely

they looked together, a troupe of California peaches

visiting Minnesota in July, the only month

they'd find palatable. I wondered what exactly

I expected of them. Flavor, I suppose.

Or I thought the stone

might offer I can't say what,

like tea leaves or a fortune cookie,

some hint of a changed life.

Still moist, still bearing a tassel of flesh,

the stone requests a sympathetic burial;

it believes that any amicable clay, even mine,

is suitable for resurrection.

From Growing Season: A Collection of Poems by Midwestern Poets

Image by tracy out west