Posted tagged ‘peaches and cream not poem’

To a Forefather

April 10, 2015


To a Forefather

Dear Nameless Here,

She always says you could tell a joke–
not the canned kind–you know,
something you’d heard–
but the kind you made up to fit
the moment,
there, right on the spot.

She calls it your sharp wit
and speaks of it as
admirable–oh, but yours
must have been
very sharp,
cutting as the pried lid of the can
that you pressed down on her. for it’s sure held her
long enough–
long even
after you’ve gone.

How is such pressure applied
where there also must
be love?
How is it preserved,
passed on?

I think of peaches sunken
in a tin, saved
in a cellar.
Peaches that are no longer exactly
after their best-use date,
assuming they ever had one,
assuming, too,
that they were once peaches.

But they must have been—oh yes—
only cut perhaps
before they sweetened,
cooked green,
never allowed to be what someone might press
to her own soft cheek, breath in, seeking succor.

Draft poem 10th in 10 days, for With Real Toads prompt by the truly terrific and always sharp (in the best of ways) Mama Zen who blogs at Another Damn Poetry Blog.   (With a recycled pic of mine.)