Laurie Kuntz
Cross-legged, with Our Reading Glasses On
and biting into meadow-picked peaches,
we sit on floral print sheets,
read poems and astrology charts--
a blossoming of pages,
words keep you whole in the midst
of angry lovers and bankrupt souls.
From Li Young Lee, you recite:
“No easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness…
Hold the peach, try the weight, sweetness
and death so round and snug
in your palm."
Outside, branches droop
heavy with the possibility of sweet round things--
jubilant peaches or rising moons,
mine a fiery Leo
and yours a water sign--
is that why you come to me bellied with tears?
Remorse for a man you cannot have,
yet possess fully as August tides
purge the shores of this resort town
where we reunite
to name planets aligning
on a summer's eve.
Wearing our dimestore glasses,
we scrutinize charts and skies,
the present and past-- nothing more
than dashes in a poem--
a token held in our open palms, covering lifelines,
fine peach-colored creases we feel
but can no longer see with the naked eye.
- For Michelle
