All Articles by M. Drew Williams

The Politics of Eating a Peach

Whether its skin is peeled, or teeth
are plunged into its ripe visage
without any such preparation,
the decision will be hated by someone.
Cutting into the peach would be a mistake:
the public would think it a violent act;
they’d scream monikers like monster.
To grind one into jelly for a sandwich
is out of the question: the choice between
white bread or rye is far too divisive—
there’s no winning that battle. Then
there arises the problem of variety.
Freestones are, by popular opinion,
most pleasing to the eye: indigenous
to America’s cooler regions, creamy red
over pallid skin. But some might take
exception to its tractionless slide
upon the tongue. Clingstones are equally
pretty, though too soft to the touch,
and many Western varietals would be
agreeable if not for their uneven texture.
The best choice is to go hungry,
and let the peaches’ fleshy insides rot,
so appetizing in their topaz bowl.

The Future, An Ocean

It is unquestionable
as to what attracted you
to this shore, the light-beige
color of crushed bone,
where the motions of spume
push clumped seaweed
and husks of dead fish
in and out with the raging tide.
Now you face the sea,
positioned on the threshold
dividing the future,
set shrewdly before you
in a collage of thrashing brine,
with the past beating
windily at your back.
Wading deep into the rush,
you vanish in the wake
of one towering wave,
accepting whatever
comes next. About this
there is no question.