What am I to a peach? What could I possibly be to a peach? Another chemically enhanced maw looking to end its non-life off the tree? But that means nothing.
What a peach is to me, however, is another matter entirely. Troubling. Troubling is what this particular peach is to me tonight. This inoffensive, ripe yellow peach. It fights the lump in the back of my throat, it’s slightly tangy flesh tastes of the summer sun I can’t see, half eaten, exposed, soft, inviting
this peach teases the gnawing, hungry, stinging of my stomach up the back of my throat, it sits, indifferent to the sadness closing that throat, half-eaten on a folded paper towel, a forlorn slice of nature on the paper choked dining room table
I am infinitely jealous of summer sun of this peach, it has a strength I don’t have
July on the very edge of the Los Angeles beach and I cannot find the sun!