This is some strange plum,
handed to you during a casual conversation.
No, not formally handed, but tossed off like hello.
or it’s been hot this week, hasn’t it?
Like something you should have known all along.
You catch it in cupped palms.
And then what?
This warm plum, this shining purple fruit
was not what you were expecting at all.
Not quite like any fruit you held before,
not pressed to your mouth
and certainly not rolled over your tongue,
its nectar and iridescent skin coloring your fingertips, your lips.
Your mouth waters in spite of you.
And you are left with the plum,
rolling it from hand to hand and back again.