in season, peaches.

 

 

 

And soon,

the peach season will be over

where we will only get the unrealistic ones,

the ones you put in paper bags, for that incredible few days,

to soften. Though this process is as highly improbable a

supposition as landing softly in a hot air balloon.

What Grandma called voodoo, ancestor worship,

the chemical action of bones. Can you imagine the

hot talk? The panicked crematoria chatter?

What if,

it is true,

what the others have said about going quietly?

Is a pit the same as a heart? As kids, with bricks,

we would crack them open to see what the center

of the universe held, and each time, there was

nothing there. Just disappointment;

the burden of centuries of evolution,

voltaic white,

folds of coil.

Bewitched, one could surmise,

is the hardest thing for fruit to understand.

Reviews

[Horizon K.]

Oh this is so cool, the pit-heart of the peach, that universe of the next generation of peaches inside. Wow Dana, I love how you took these ideas , peaches ripening, smashing open, giving voice to their thoughts as they die... And created an experience transcendent... voltaic white, folds of coil./ bewitched... I'm in awe of you!