Plum Juice Runs Happy

You worked hard for the plum,

to bite into the Mariposa

before the heat comes

and it rots. 

 

Its purple plumpness

pulsates with juice,

so dark and clear

through and through.

 

The comfort is not startling.

It’s the taste you know

from a thousand memories,

 

What takes you back

is the shock of seeing

your heart in your palm,

the taste of your blood rich

in this other thing.

 

Yes, it’s not what you hoped,

maybe more for such

a late summer surprise.

 

Yet, in the shrinking light you

don’t begrudge yourself

this small purple reward for

a lifetime of regrets and doubts,

unborn hopes and still-born pleasures.

 

This plum blossomed

despite you,

apart from you.

 

It reached you

skin sweating

ripe to be your miracle.

 

It’s not just sweet,

it’s sweetness,

full of the seasons

of its short life,

your everything- nothing joy.

 

Bite into it, and

you must bite into it,

taste its smallness

in your fullness.

 

Feel it run

down your cheek

overflowing your palm.

 

Feel it mesh with all

your runny happiness.