And though the wheat has need of a poem,
I will not forget you this time, your kindnesses.
The ocean announces a storm in advance,
kicking up sand in the shallows. Above,
a surrender of blue for white sky of
impending snow. The beach is in the air,
sand-stinging pins against my bare hands
as I walk homeward against the wind.
I remember you brought Georgia peaches
on your first visit to my home, insisting I
eat the skins. I was sure of catastrophes.
Can’t eat them any other way, now. So,
as I walk, I want to thank you for not
taking my life by peaches.
I see you waiting at the window, not fond
of the cold. I have loved you beyond
comfort these years. And when you wrap
me in your arms and a warmed blanket
after cold walks, I wonder if you have ever
known, that is why I walk come winter.