Once, only in summer:
they came, brown-bagged
from the A&P, opened
to reveal spheres
of black-red purple ripeness,
placed in a glass bowl
on the kitchen counter,
counterparts to spheres
of reddish-peach ripeness,
in unison, issuing the sirens’
call to the boy,
grabbing black-red purple
in one hand
in the other
and stealing to the backyard
to savor double sweetness.
This poem is a response to the “purple poetry” prompt issued by Seth Haines at Tweetspeak Poetry.
It’s also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.
Photograph by Brunhilde Reinig via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
How the simplest treats could give us so much happiness when we were children! Wonderful poem, Glynn!
I love wild plums right off the tree. . .
Your words are wonderful! You bring us so much more than the color..it's taste, texture, season, sunshine...all wrapped up into this gorgeous little weave. Fantastic!
mmm i want a plum now...they were a treat growing up...not our usual apple or pear....
What a treat. A tasty poem.
That it only came but once a year made it all the sweeter. What a joy memory.
nice. I love plums. You're right, there was a time you could only get plums, and cherries too for that matter, in the summer. Now, in the winter as well. That is definitely progress:) excellent write Glynn. Thanks
Not forbidden, but just as tempting...
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