Today is not the day for pumpkin pie,
light as air, lapping the tongue in
sliding whipped cream. Today is not
the day for sugar, mixed with butter
or medicine or otherwise. Sweetness
will come again someday.
Today is the time for cherries,
bright red, sour, tart, a pit as
hard as a fist just inside. Today is the
time for bite, for fruit picked by hand
from seeds sewn years ago, delivered
to dry, bitter lips.