When my father comes over
He brings his Wall Street Journal
And in winter
For my daughter
A single pear
Perfectly ripe, so the juice
Drips down her chin
As she sits on the kitchen counter
With her bare feet dangling
All day afterward she smells like fruit
Sweet and slightly acidic
Plus salt
From inevitable toddler tears
Her face still sticky as she
Presses against mine hours later
When I sing her to sleep
And on the coldest days
I will think of this:
Of a single pear
And the love that remains
Long after it is gone.
Rachel Beachy is a poet from Louisville, KY, where she currently lives with her husband and two daughters. Her poems have appeared in The Bluebird Word and Steam Ticket.
