the peach I hold in my heart
I hold in my heart
for my teacher
who placed it there
with gentle fingered touch
so much
its moist flesh
will hold my heart open
and searching
but when the day plays out
and I doubt there’s enough love
in this place, enough space
in this place, enough enough—
my heart shrinks up
I can feel the juice dribbling
and the soft flesh shmushed
hushed by the false sense of safety
in turning in
until
through dint of time and across it
she begins to place it there again
my friend
whole
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