I keep finding peaches
Peaches
I don't think it's possible to not smile when you say the word
they turn my cheeks the same color as their skin
it makes me grin and laugh to see them sunbathing on the banister
lining the window sills like shining trophies
on my porch like children climbing to Set upon the tallest object They can find
beaming as children do
Maybe it's cuz I grew up in the south
Knowing you have to set them out And wait for them to be soft to
the touch
let them ripen in the Sun so you can then pick your fruit that up
until now has been forbidden
it's like a little fuzzy ball of gold Sunshine warming your face and
your mouth
I love the word peaches
maybe it's the memory,
the name,
Peaches
“chin up, peaches”
it carrie's such an innocence such a light-hearted, free-spirited
happiness.
something warm and welcoming and something I could only find at home
maybe it's the breakfast
peaches and cream
three ingredients
so happy, so creamy, so sweet, smooth, summary, comforting
it's what my grandma would give me
so sugary, yet so filling
it reminds me of her
it tastes how she act
it is her hyperbole
peaches and cream is a grandmother
it's as sweet as her voice
as comforting as her touch
as filling as her hug
and as smooth as her skin.
maybe it's all three
either way
this time of Peach field windowsills will come again next year
and the year after that
and the year after that
until I am the grandmother they represent
and every year, I will smile.
I wrote this in peach seasoned, if you couldn't tell and as silly and stupid as it sounds peaches bring back beautiful memories for me. I tried to convey some of those memories in this poem, such as they're embodiment of my grandmother (who makes me that dish to this day).
