Carrie Cutforth

Low Bearing Fruit

I have a vision of you 

eating a bouquet of

peach blossoms 

in a bright garden, 

hunched over a 

wrought iron table 

your mouth devouring 

the delicate blush petals

your whiskers piercing 

the skin of velvety folds

your large uncouth hands 

sawing away at the tough 

stems with a plastic knife 

and fork that dimple the 

Styrofoam plate underneath

you chewing carefully 

to keep the sharp prickly

thistles from scratching 

your throat while 

black burrs cling

between your teeth

you drowning despite your

cautionary shallow swallows

your bright breath 

smelling always 

of my nectar 

now that you’ve 

ingested the 

garden of me