tell me again
about the man
with the pear tree
who lost his wife
after fifty-six years of marriage
and how that tree doesn’t know when enough is enough
that last August
he had to prop the poor thing’s branches up
it was so laden with fruit.
He gave you a bagful of those pears
and their scent filled the car
even with the windows rolled down.
Editor’s Note: This ekphrastic poem handles grief with a sideways feint—spoken of between the lines, with fruit and movement.
Painting by Julia Klatt Singer
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