Taste of the Sun

Taste of the Sun                                                                           

Drought curls leaves, scorches earth,

pushes roots deeper to seek water.

Sweat trickles down my forehead,

stings my eyes, runs down my ruddy cheeks.

On a three-legged stool, in the shade of a dogwood tree,

I lick salt from parched lips, praise my hearty harvest.

Deep purple, crimson, green striped, buttercup orbs

glisten like gems in Queen Isabella’s crown.

Seeds from Aztecs sailed to Spain, spread to Italy,

cropped up in France, returned to the Americas—changed.

A bite of one silk-skinned, ruby hybrid awakens

dreams of my Early Girl’s ancestral journey.

Tangy juice floods my watering mouth,

escapes my lips, dribbles down my chin.

Gold Medal mornings, Brandy Wine afternoons,

Black Krim evenings with family and friends

promise summer feasts of heirloom tomatoes,

quench my thirst for the taste of the sun.

 Published in The Weekly Avocet #450 Fall 2021