Tuesday, June 4, 2019

Burnt toast and Monday morning rain (Day 867)

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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