Two pears arranged on a platter
nestled next to one another, touching.
I remember cuddling up to you
on a crisp fall morning.
A discrepancy of color:
light yellow to apple green—
the reflected glow of lamplight on your face.
A sheen of moisture, the morning dew,
a droplet of mist condenses on cold fruit.
The background, the light changes.
I replace soft, spotted fruit with fresh,
discard the mustard plastic platter
for mango earthenware.
If I nibble along the back of the blushing pear,
no one will be able to see the difference
in the printed photograph.
Your smile gazing into mine knows.
I see the wink in your eyes.
c. Darlene Moore Berg