Georgia Summer: The Weight of Peaches
Sun is heavy through the window
her bones sharp against my chest
as I change her diaper
the lightness of her body thinned
to this shaking weight.
Battered kitchen shimmered in July
waves of thick heat.
Like an alchemist she scalded the itch
off Elbertas and New Havens
stirred juice into sure-jell, her wooden spoon
transforming boiling scum into thickened gold.
Tenses alternate like electrical current –is, was-
now self divorced from then self.
Bottom teetering off the wheelchair
her grunt tells me she finds the cereal pleasing
eyes do nothing but reflect light. The long goody-bye.
Time to lower her onto the throne
catch her as she pitches forward,
walk her back into the day
the farmhouse was alive with lilacs
floors in need of polish.
Heavy sunlight beveled rims of mason jars
blackened the bottoms of kettles
while peach halves, bronzed with syrup
securely sealed after their deep dive
into the pressure cooker
leaned down like listening ears.
Hair still brown and soft
brushes my cheek as I lay her back on frayed sheets
the soreness in my chest weight
recognizable only much later as grief
and another day goes out as colors deepen
into shadow. I lean forward on air
as if our heads still touch ever so lightly
over the split blood of peaches.
(from Carquinez Poetry Review, 2004)
