Peach
heavy on my palm.
Its hard-knot,
rattling heart muffled
by flesh I want to pierce.
Its skin
soft as felt, smooth as
unshaven down
on bare arms, dust on
butterfly wings.
Its in-between colour –
less than orange
not quite pink,
ambiguous
like brown.
Apples, pears and plums
are cool against the
cheek, but a peach
is warm.
***
Sunflowers
Their brown hearts shrivel
easily. They seethe in their skins
with the patience of
stalkers. In Van Gogh’s paintings,
they wilted in the heat of his
brilliant chrome
but they were indoors, you understand.
Try leaving them in a field. They
will grow like an army. Their
upturned faces will teach you
devotion and their fierce,
absurd longing
for a distant star
will demonstrate the joy
in things unrequited.
*Originally published in the anthology Mosaic.
“Sunflowers” is fantastic!
oh pretty!
Hmmmmmmmmmm
Hell, you make me want to sink my teeth into a peach with solemn purpose and I don’t usually eat them.
Craving a peach right now…to hold it, feel it, experience it.
Also feel like bringing some sunflowers home.
Wonderfully crafted poems! Simply wonderful.
Thank you all. I’ve avoided posting poetry on this blog by and large but all this encouragement makes me want to post some more. Be warned.