Yesterday I bit into a peach that tasted like nothing.
But the spirals of fall colors on her skin were stunning, especially in the deep parts of winter.
I do not eat for the taste of nothing.
So, I took a few more bites, tasting with intention. Nothing. Another, nothing.
I am terrified of what it means to chew on the taste of nothing while I am falling in love.
I don’t know if it was the peach or my taste buds, but I threw out the peach and kept the taste buds.
It is not my work to make the peach taste good to me. I want to overwhelm my taste buds.
And I think of these things:
1. The time a pre-lover woman left a peach, a gift of nourishment and implications, in my backpack. I did not discover the gift until it had already begun rotting. It smeared its rotten, sticky parts on my poetry. Remain(s).
2. In an elementary talent show, we danced to Peaches by The Presidents of The United States of America. I gave my mother the task of buying us peaches to bite into during the show. She accidentally bought nectaries. The body of the audience responded to our sour reactions, upon biting, with laughter. Here, I wonder what we went without for those sour peaches that we bit and then threw away. Food as prop. Here I know that we never had peaches at home. Was my mother as embarrassed at her unknowing as I was? The taste of sour is not nothing.
3. What does it mean to eat fruit out of season?
4. What does it mean to eat fruit that could never grow where you are growing?
Today, I brought a mango.