Soft & Sweet – A poem

escapril day 16: bearing fruit

The ripest peach, soft and sweet
Juice down your chin in a sticky streak-
The taste of summer, wonderful and warm.

But in a desperate, hungry gulp for more
The stone sends cracks through your teeth – 
And tumbles down your throat’s hollow street.

Imminent sharp-edged catastrophe
Disguised in a golden pink delicacy –
A shudder as you swallow the core,

Clawing, I didn’t know peaches had thorns.
Melt-in-your-mouth turns to a scratch
Ever present in your oesophagus, latched on –

A fist-sized lump from a bittersweet treat,
Gripping your breath in a choked clutch feat,
But slowly sinking to your stomach floor.

Like a ringing ear, your throat stings sore,
But now, nestled there, is a sprouting seed,
And maybe here is where it’s supposed to be.

You will grow from this, you will grow –
Maybe this pip will bear fruit of its own.
A necessary evil grows the ripest peach,
That tastes like summer, soft and sweet.