PeachFarmsAndPromises - Third Place - by Paula Macena

PeachFarmsAndPromises

Third Place

by Paula Macena

Call the witness to the stand;

the jury wants to know

how you hold peaches like a heartbeat,

how it always tastes better w

hen it’s been plucked by your hands.

(Truth: you didn’t always know how to pick

the ripest of the bunch.)

Tell them how you grow your own peach trees

outside of Georgia’s borders,

how you could compare the sweetness to manna,

how you never get sick of its taste.

(Truth: it’s only ever godsent

when your lover plants the seeds.)

Can you spill your secrets the same way

the juice overflows in your cupped palms?

Can you share how you hold white wine

in the back of your throat like you’re saving up ammo? (

Truth: you weren’t made with a soldier’s heart,

and your father’s farmhand dreams

continue to elude you.)

They don’t know that the promised land

grows its fruits in your backyard,

that Eden was the blueprint

for the garden planted behind your fence.

(Truth: you used to sleep amongst its flowers.

It was the only place that ever felt like home.)

Swear on the Bible that your soil-tinged hands

will protect the harvest in your hometown

for as long as your peaches are sweet,

for as long as the wine spills from your mouth.

(Truth: you didn’t mean to find the fountain of youth,

but the prophecy had been foretold

and there was no way to disentangle your fate from these roots.)