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Tasting Summer


At the side of the road

the sign reads peaches.

I buy a small basket

of five and devour one,

too hungry to wait

until I return to the Chevy.

From this basket of

temperate goodness

comes the taste of summer days, dusty juice flowing

like rain between my

fingers. In the golden,

sunny meat of this fruit is mother’s peach cobbler,

chunky slices tossed

beneath dough, the flakiest crust emerging from the oven. From this summer basket

comes amber-hued

evenings dripping

with the succulence

of peach filled days.

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