I supposed you have food there, too, but here it is summer
           and we have asparagus, avocado, and stone fruit.
I am so happy.

The yard trees of my youth yield more fruit than we can handle.

I was going to bake chicken with cherries and apricot,
           but already it is too hot. I can’t turn on the oven.

           Sometimes I bite straight into plums.
Other times I slice them to serve on a platter.

           Sometimes I want to move away
so I must remember everything I used to love: stone fruit and asparagus,
draughts of eucalyptus carried through the window on the wind.