from blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend of the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches
from laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes the nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all
comes the familar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
there are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the backgound; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
please join Prescott in honoring the
Granite Mountain Hotshot Crew
as nineteen heroes lost to us all return home
for the last time.
after a long week of community mourning
we will line the streets of our town
to stand in honor of their light,
courage, devotion, their impossibly generous lives.
from this heart wrenching procession of nineteen brave young lives
hearts heavy and silent
we will come home to prepare the perfect place to
plant peach trees in their honor.
so spring will forever be filled with
blossoms in their memory.
blossom to blossom to impossible blossom,
to sweet impossible blossom.