Poetry Friday

Grapefruit
Don't be sorry, ma'am, be grateful,
was what the ragged man said
when I breathed Sorry and kept walking
as he stood on the corner for spare change.
He was bearded, wrapped
in blankets, night and rain.

That was the fall. But it comes back
like a tide, with ordinary things -
This sun. Shoes. A spoonful
of red grapefruit, out of season.
One more thing to give thanks for,
the sweetness and the sting of it,
even as the sweetness slides on down.

~Jessie Brown

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Currently reading:

The Fetch
by Laura Whitcomb