My daughter says
My favorite word is plump

Rounded full
Spilling over into curves
Peaches are
So overflowing
Their scent follows
The sweet not sweet
Taste on my tongue
In the heat
Of a New Jersey
July day
I walk down sandy streets
Barnegat Bay on my west
The Atlantic at my east
To Viking Village
And the produce stand
I stop for an iced coffee
At the Village Brew
Dark bitter tangy
Cold cold cold
As the sea
The cup sweats
As I carry it
At last I stop at Tony’s
For my daily peaches
I hold them in my palm
With tenderness
Testing their weight
And their fragrance
a certain pull of
Subtle softness

To me a peach
Holds all that summer is
A plump lusciousness
Unknown in any other season