standing before a pyramid of anjou pears
it’s obvious we never wanted what we had
hard and bitter left to ripen on a shelf we
expected honey-butter love soft spreadable
not burnt toast and Monday morning rain
the salt taste of your words lingering on my
tongue but I still see the summer light
scattered like pollen across our kitchen floor
bright enough to make me sneeze (I still do
when the sun tickles my eyes) the notion of
forgetting leaves me cold and I wonder is it
strange that now and then I still sing that
same old tune lyrics ripening like pears
a trace of nectar sweetening my windowsill
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Paul Cézanne, Still Life with Pitcher
and Fruit (1893–94), oil on canvas,
via Wikimedia Commons
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