Peaches

by Margaret Ray

For Anita

Everything has intentions

of its own, even

this knife. A knife’s intention

is to cut, which is what

I am using it for:

cutting this peach

into under-ripe wedges

because either patience

or flies come next,

so here is the knife

filling my hand

with intent so full

I almost cut my thumb

across the two-year-old scar

of just such

intentions. The pit

into the plastic trash bag

where it will rot

unproductively.

We’re not doing

our best. Intending

to help, your phone

keeps suggesting

you add your mother

to emails, not good enough

to have taken her silence

for absence. The peach

isn’t good, but

can you imagine?

next year there may be

peaches again.