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James A. Emanuel - Françoise And The Fruit Farmer

In town to sell his fruit, he saw her—
Françoise in her summer slacks—
turning to him, coming back
to feel the swelling plums,
one held in each soft hand, breast-high,
above them her eyes enclosing him
in quietness brushed up to colors,
urgings green, thrustings yellow.

A vine-like touch, her promise seemed all profit,
surplus to lay aside and store,
quick harvest if he collapsed his stand,
pulled down his crates, rolled away his canvas:
full bounty if he washed his hands and followed,
trailing her fragrances
of melons in their prime, of berries bursting.

She turned to go, her scent adrift
as if from glistenings in soil turned off a spade.
His yearning had no time
to plant and cultivate
and wait for rain,
yet he was quick to catch a peach about to fall—
that brightness of his wrist
costing the moment that concealed her in the crowd;
and yet a perfect peach lay in his hand,
his only means to feel the way good seasons end.

A lucky day, he thought,
begins with plums.


 

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 2012 times | Comments and analysis of Françoise And The Fruit Farmer by James A. Emanuel Comments (0)

Françoise And The Fruit Farmer - Comments and Information

Poet: James A. Emanuel
Poem: Françoise And The Fruit Farmer
Volume: Whole Grain: Collected Poems, 1958-1989
Year: Published/Written in 1991
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