six apricots
one freckled like a songbird’s breast
I’ll take and offer you
mixed with cold cream cheese
from the fridge
five apricots left
velvet skin gives way
to bronze juice sweet pith
sticky finger tips
four apricots
an imperfect square
in the circle of the bowl
one for your dessert
leaves three apricots
the colour of sunset
one is perfect
with fresh coffee
two apricots
like sleepy heads
at siesta one more
on waking
one apricot left there
for the taking I hold it
breathe it find no words
for all it says to me
Miriam Darlington, from Windfall
