THE MIRACLE OF RAIN
and peaches into her shopping cart. She’s been weeping
produce since I got in line. First peas,
tight rolling armies, some drop
into her gusting mouth. Now, three kumquats tumble
off each cheek, bananas drip
from the tip of her nose. Does anyone else see this?
When she sobs dark bumpy avocados
I hear myself sigh, oh.
Those were on my list,
but the bin was empty. I reach under her chin
and catch a pear. A Williams, chartreuse,
arched stem, nicer than the Bosc I chose. I bite.
Our eyes meet. Cry a ham, I whisper.
She does. Cry a marble bundt cake. Still warm,
I ease it into my cart. Cry a wheel of Gouda.
I ask for 60 watt soft white light bulbs. They bloom
from her swollen eyelids. Just to see
if she can stand it, I order two Brazilian
pineapples. No one notices—not the cashier,
the other customers or the lanky stock boy
in a blue apron, mopping.
ABOUT THE POET
ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.