A Second Harvest

Her body was not that of a young girl
not so firm and hard but
firm and soft; seasoned and succulent
 

Not the first picked fruit
but the end of the season.
 

Her breasts
not melons
or grapefruits
but plums,
shapely sweet plums.
 

Her wombs' bleeding
like currant jelly
not the quick red flow of earlier days
Heavier. Her shell being scraped by the tools of time.
 

The pain not unbearable, not even unwelcome
like the twist of a stem.
Her body had been dormant. Sleeping.
Now readying her for a second season.
 

Stronger than the younger vines.
The fruit tasteful. Rich with colour and juice.
 

The juice of her sweet second harvest there shining on her lover's mouth
aglow in his eyes.
 

Hope (Timp) Baluh, M.D.

Class of 1983