This Peach

This peach, in particular,

Sitting on my kitchen table

In red silence.

In truth it’s rocking back and forth,

Vibrating like a familiar tune.

 

I’ll eat the peach,

Swallow its gilded noise,

Throw its stripped-black stone

Into an empty basket,

Container for soundless days.

It will return

In a thousand loud bites.

 

Remembering this peach,

I’ll tell stories

About the incredible things it’s done,

The adventures it’s had,

From inside each of its many skins.

That faint bruising around the navel?

The truth trying to break free.

 

 

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