by Bonnie Lini Markowski

A symphony of freshness.
There you are,
Pippins, Cortlands, Boscs-
The usual, dull, fall fare,
assembled like a majestic choir,
unapologetically singing:
“We’re still here.”
Yellowy red,
Vine ripened—
The last tune of summer
I bag six—
Days pass.
The morning, chilly enough
To turn on the heat.
I had forgotten,
But the others did not.
I find you alone in the fridge.
I reach, gingerly,
Sing you, hold you like a fragile note.
Just a quick, light squeeze-
My heart flutters-
You’re ripe to the touch.
I bring you to my mouth.
You smell—peachy.
I bite quickly,
My teeth shocked,
Like plunging into a cold pool.
Your skin
cracks beneath my teeth,
Your flesh soft,
oozes its juice,
Runs down the length of my arm and I lick,
As yellow leaves fall on dying grass,
I tap my toes to the last beat of summer.

Bonnie Lini Markowski lives in PA with her husband, two children, and two cats. She teaches writing at a liberal arts university in northeastern PA. Bonnie holds a B.A. and M. A. in English. Her debut poem appeared in the Summer 2019 edition of the Gyroscope Review. In addition to writing she loves cooking, wine and photography.