Peaches and Time

On control, and our lack thereof.

Peaches and Time

Time curls like ripened peach skin
Pulled from the flesh.
Which falls from my hands
Before I can think to catch it.
But the peach tree out front
Is ripe now
And freckled with nucleus, cytoplasm,
Membrane tickled with baby fuzz.

The premature fruits
Lay smooth and hard, around the base
As my brother took joy in
Picking the green globes
That would thunk upon the dirt
And roll to his feet in adulation.

This is satisfying somehow,
Our control on the cells of the world.
But time contains no nucleus
No cytoplasm or membrane,
And it falls from my hands
Before I can think to catch it.