Plums Revisited
i’m sorry
but
i ate
the plums in the fridge
the fancy-ass ones you
got from the farmer’s market
you were so excited to go
leaving early saturday before i
was out of bed
you looked so cute
in your big sunhat and
doc martins with that worn-thin flannel
thrown over your arms for good measure
i didn’t have the heart to tell you
that you looked
like a bougie caricature of
you
you were so excited
radiating sunshine more
golden than
the light poking through the blinds
you came back laden
with more stories than groceries
when we embraced
(welcome home) i
breathed you in
you brought the morning with you
smelling
like a person who has been
exploring
like summer
like sun and watermelons and laughter
you bubbled over about
the students with their bake sale
the families with their babies and
all the dogs
and you looked at me
and i saw in your eyes
(that could have been us)
but your eyes widened and brightened with
an internal ‘oh!’
as you reached
triumphant
into your backpack
and pulled out a slightly squashed
brown paper bag
of plums
which you got for a really good price
and which are grown
right here
and which are better
than the ones from the store
and you sat back looking for praise
and i laughed a little
because you were so excited
about these small
fat
plums
but today
when it was about a hundred degrees
and i came in
for a drink
i took one of your plums from
the fridge
(which was almost empty -
my fault )
and it was so cold and
sweet
i closed my eyes when the
pink-red juice
ran down my sticky arm
and i’m sorry for laughing
and for other things
unsaid
and next week
i’ll go with you to
the market
and we’ll hold hands in the
sunshine
and look at
all the dogs
and
i’ll buy you a
bathtub of
fresh
ruby
plums