Doug Roy, A Pear of Banditos, Cut Paper
Another Poem About Peaches
after Terri Kirby Erickson
In that other poem she sits
beside his bed feeding
her husband peaches
while he is dying,
and the truth that he really is
finally reaches into her chest
and squeezes, hard, but she
offers him another bite
and he accepts, swallows, canned
fruit we all know to taste
with him in that moment, sweet
and cool, tender enough to cut
into chunks with a plastic
hospital spoon, but then
I feel that texture on my own tongue
and I have to turn away,
can’t finish the poem because
I wonder if you will sit
beside my bed like that
as I am leaving you —
it will be hard but you
can do hard things,
though you never pretend
they aren’t hard, and all at once
I get it, never pretend, you always
show me exactly how you feel,
which sometimes has seemed hard
to me across the years but now
is tender and sweet as anything
two people are willing to share.
___________
Bill Griffin
Review by Ben Sloan
This spare poem presents, as in a snapshot, a rare moment of genuine deep feeling and connection, two really, first the recognition that the person feeding with a plastic spoon canned peaches to a dying person is strong, fearless enough to be present for and with that dying person, that this strength is a kind of bravery and sacrifice in the face of pain–and second, the poet witnessing the bond in action. Witnessing a deeply meaningful moment and then conveying it in straightforward, unambiguous terms in this way so a reader can be there in the experience, experience it alongside the author, is an amazing accomplishment.
Review by Bruce Parker
I like this one, plain, direct, exact.