Sunday Morning at the Outdoor Market
her hand over ecru lacings of cantaloupe,
over the cool curve of honeydew
was it this morning, an hour,
a breath ago her fingers poised,
skimmed me like this, skimmed
smooth as ice on its melting?
the aproned grocer repositions
moro oranges with centers deep as pinot noir
closer to minneolas. their aureolas tip
stem ends to the brush of her palm.
not so long,
an instant ago,
I was as dark and reaching.
sunlight tongues her nape
and mine. curling into the low floating
notes of a busker, tugs them
across the breeze bared street, across
wooden slats weathered to pearl, and her
lashes as they slant toward me. time
even the fruit is silent
and shining in this moment.
©2004 by Rae Weaver
Rae Weaver lives in Virginia. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in various online and print publications, including Poems Niederngasse, Gin Bender, Lotus Blooms Journal, Dead Mule, bloc, Carnelian, Erosha, Wicked Alice and VLQ. She is also a 2003 Pushcart Prize Nominee, and Poetry Editor for ERWA. See more of her work at her Web site.