A perfect peach sits on the table
Waiting to be picked up by the woman.
Its velvety skin a reminder
Of that pretty dress she wore
Or her baby’s soft head that many years ago.
She picks it up and bites into it
Juice squirting into her mouth and running down her chin
Reminding her of the first time
She ate a peach straight from the tree.
The flesh soft, yet firm, not grainy
As she chews she smiles because it tastes so good
And makes her think of happy times and summer
Of being a kid with peach trees all around
Knowing that they would always be there.
4 comments:
How sweet. I could almost taste that peach. When did you become a poet? Keep up the good work. Mom
mmmmm....peaches
anonymous daughter
Makes me want to go right out and get myself a peach!
Auntie J.
Leslie, I loved this poem. I'm taking it to share with my friend Joyce tonight. She always loves it when I bring her peaches from Fairfield. She says they just drip down your chin. I always bring her more peaches than anyone else. She will love this poem.
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