Duchess Pears

Some pears are nice to look at.

Some pears are nice to eat.

And sometimes, I’m here to tell you,

the first bite is so very sweet.

But I would not objectify pears.

I love them in my heart

and I savor them on my tongue.

And I’m here to tell you,

they satisfy me in my belly.

But I have been known

to do two things at once;

to believe one thing

which contradicts the other.

Their skin,

yellow and freckled,

their flesh,

not white like snow,

nor brown like the earth.

But I am here to tell you,

their juice is like and not like yours.

If I have misled you,

it is because you followed.

My words are only some small thing

yet nothing - compared with a real pear.

I’m here to tell you

there are several still

in a ceramic bowl

on the sill.

I was not I

who named these sweet pears: Duchess.

And not any pear,

but the one I hold in my hand,

the one about to become one with me;

and in between,

so fair, so fine, so real,

and in my mouth,

so pear,

and, yes, I’m here to tell you,

perhaps with a blemish or two.