It's Still Life

When It Was June

All the cherries fell.
Not from wind or ripeness,
it was hail and rain.

A substantial crop
that nature emptied
from the crowded branches.

Summer burns the streets.
Doors. Windows. Open wide.
Grannies on the shaded stoop.

I bought cherries that day.
Rinsed them in cold water,
and ate them as if my own.

Lips.
Fingers. Cherry-stained.
Stones spat across the grass.

2-hours later, a tanker sprayed
water on the pavement.
Not that it made any difference.

For Writers’ Digest (PA prompt: flashback), and 7 of 8 words from the Oracle. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.