Delight

A mother gives her baby boy
his first real peach, not from a can.
He turns away, making a face,
the fuzz on the skin repelling his tongue.
She cuts a robin-shaped slice
and peels the fuzz away
and feeds it to the toe-headed tot
as innocent and pure as could be
a perfect golden-pink peach.

What could have been slumbering
For a billion years in the stardust
that found its way into the loam
of the Earth that would make that
One peach so sweet, only that once?

It would never taste so sweet again!

In only the way that a child can be,
he is filled to the brim with
sparkling delight.

The same slumbering that slept
in stardust before the Big Bang
and lit the match of a nuclear spark
awoke in the indescribable
taste of the first peach

and

sparked the mind of Madam Curie

and

woke the muse that is becoming a poem

and

burst into the first notes of the 9th

Pure Delight, Pure Joy,
Slumbering, awaiting,
Everything’s call.

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