Most summers, I have one or two utterly outstanding peaches.
Blackberries have varieties of beauty,
hard and wersh, soft and sweet, late and subtle,
dying my fingers
A meal of them in August, a freak lone fruit in November.
Apples are dependable.
You know where you are with an apple.
The full plum tree ripens all at once
for jam, wine, and a sugar-orgy, our family as animals together.
Grapes are pleasant.
I like it if someone else peels them for me.
early in the year they go squishy before they ripen
and they may wrinkle quickly
and some grow blue fur overnight
and I bite one, to find it crunchy-
and just one, all summer, floods my mouth with sweetness
its juice flowing down my hands
It is the only fruit of the year.