Monday, July 18, 2011

Peaches

the sign off the side of the road
read FRESH PEACH PIE
made me think of how she used wait until the summer
when the peaches were in season
only able to eat a few mouthfuls
her stomach half gone
battle scars from war after war with
so many armies of cancer
FRESH PEACH PIE
with instant iced tea to wash it down
out of green plastic drinking glasses
always with a straw
bent over the edge
waiting for my grandfather to bring her glass
after glass after glass of that instant ice tea
watching me with young smiling eyes
the eyes my father and I both share
trapped inside the body of an old woman
listening to Sweet Caroline on the record player
I'd leave her home, hair smelling of stale cigarettes,
and flowery perfume
even just a hug good bye
seemed to be more than her body could manage
so fragile
even in the arms of a child
FRESH PEACH PIE
tastes like a memory
a home now hazy but always held close

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