My retirement plan is a giant peach
fuzzy, plump, and perfect for canning,
braising, freezing, drying in
slices. I’d fashion a peach leather
jacket, sunset ombre over my shoulders –
smell heavenly, floating from place to
place, sweet Georgia summer shine
left in my wake. I’d make syrups and
elixirs to soothe what aches.
A peach is but a kiss on the cheek,
the blush that follows the
swell inside. I’d fall in love
endlessly. Write fruit and eat poetry
messily over the fallow ground. Kiss
every cheek. Hand out peach after
juicy peach, pits sprouting where
they are cherished most – in
loamy soil and a fearless heart.
Shadiyat Ajao is a poet based in Harlem. She holds an MFA from The New School and is currently an assistant editor for Conjunctions. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry Northwest, Blaze Vox Journal Online, and 3 Elements Literary Review. She firmly believes that rest is resistance and sends tweets sometimes @write_i_diyat.
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