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Unlike the hybrids darkly maroon in stores,
these that glowed red from the inside
followed a delicate translucent white.
The Juliana brooch my grandmother wore—
roan rhinestones of the cherry tree
donned her old home place.
Rudolph noses, their guidance
balanced the branch's shaky tight wires
as we reached toward more light.
My tongue felt for the seam of the pit
long after the last rags of fruit weathered.
Bare feet felt for sandy ruffles in the road.
Darkness smelled where a spring
poked its finger through the bank.
Then, I spit out all possibility
from deep in the mountains,
deep within me,
deeper still in childhood,
the meager attempt
to give something more
than was given to me.
Vol. 36, no. 2, 2008