Valerie Roach

The Bite

 

Each time I pass by, I recall that August day
we biked up the gravel road — dust clouds swirling —
scent of peach nectar rising from the farmstand
delicate as butterfly wings on the late morning heat.

Between us we had just enough cash to buy
one red-tinged globe, firm yet soft at once. I
cradled its fuzzy heft in my palm, bit in. Juice ran
down my arm, pooled at my elbow, dripped on the road.

You laughed when I handed you the peach. I think
that’s the instant I fell in love with you,
just one sloppy bite and a laugh in a flash
we shared on a dust-covered road.

But falling out of love? That seemed endless as the long
bike home, itchy peach juice stuck to my arm.

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Valerie Roach lives and writes in strawberry country on the California Central Coast. Her work has appeared in Barney Street, Eunoia Review, The Marbled Sigh, and Shot Glass Journal.