stolen

too tired for new words
so here:
i've stolen
someone else's.

this poem comes to you from Kyra Ahlstrom, a brilliant young writer i met at a writing retreat last summer. she's been gracing me with her work all year, despite the fact that she's in college and surrounded at any given time by midterms and late-night frat parties. what a treasure she is for sending me this. and so, an excerpt:

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Apriums (to my mother)

Apricots
(such a prim, crisp word)
and plums
(sensual, and curved)

you bought them at the farmer’s market,
along with cherries
strawberries that melted on the
tongue and blueberries the best I’ve ever had

such a bounty, a banquet of fruit
lush and colorful on the counter
a feast of love and healthy children and mothers

and today, I walked to Whole Foods
where most of the luscious, expensive produce
is from, of course, California.

And there in a barrel, tucked behind the blackberries and yellow
tomatoes
Is a sea of apriums, gorgeous in their color.
I bought five and it made me feel
Closer to you.