the peach

she takes
the yellow peach
into her
pink hands
and turns it
slowly over
under a stream
of cold water.
she rubs it
gently as it
tumbles
on her fingers.
it's soft and
and ripe
and ready.
she pulls the
stem out
with a twist,
then dries the
piece of fruit
with a paper towel.
she is as careful
and as kind
as one can be with
a peach, then
she sets it
on the cutting
board and eases
a sharp knife
down the middle
until it hits
the hard seed,
then cuts
the other way
and once more,
until the peach
falls apart
in clean,
neat slices.
she puts them
on a plate
in a cirle,
like a flower,
and slides them
to me and says.
here you go
honey. enjoy.
and i tell her
as i take the
first sweet bite,
the life of
the peach going
down off my lips
onto my chin, i
tell her,
thank you sweet
girl. i love
you too.