As part of the PARTY planning, I was ROPED into overseeing the food. While at first a little frustrated (wasn’t I doing enough already?), I gradually accepted the task. In fact, I became so excited by the possibilities, that I began to pick up exotic fruits. My kitchen began to smell and look like a market in the tropics. Guavas set aside to RIPEN, star fruit and pineapple cheerfully occupying bowls on the counter. Papaya taking up space in the fridge and kiwis piled into the nooks and crannies of the produce drawer. I quickly became an expert in sorting out the merely RIPER fruits from the rotten ones. Soon even my dreams were pastel kaleidoscopes of fruit bowls, tropical cocktails, and fancy sorbets. What a joy to turn what started as a burden into a gleeful set of experiments. I was giddy with the possibilities!

Georg’ann

Like low rumbling thunder far off
a storm that may or may not arrive,
that was the SOUND of her GRIEF.
On the outskirts of perception coming along the banks of this slow moving RIVER.
Hands pushing persimmon pulp through the RICER,
sorrow won’t ever be RIPER.
Will the stringy bittersweet mass
be allowed to squish through fingers exploring,
to separate skin, seeds, and flesh.
Or will it be left alone to rot.

Heather