Nubby red raspberries and silk-skinned cherries tingle the tongue;
the golden apple’s emphatic roundness shapes the hand.
Flavors, colors, textures slice through
the daily oatmeal torpor
temperate and formless, bland and beige,
as if from a big pot,
the exact same for all.
Stir in butter, sugar, wishes, prayers–it’s still oatmeal.
Dare to eat a peach:
Savor the shielding, yielding skin;
revel in the oozing juice, teeth sinking
into the velvety flesh.
Devour it all, down to the heart.
The heart’s a stone,
a tough, rough case
sheltering a treeful of fruit.
To get the fruit,
eat the peach.