Fruit out of season
tantalizes, but


costs too much,
confuses the senses,
doesn’t satisfy.

Green apples sicken greedy boys.
still life poem 1000Hot-house tomatoes taste pale.
Pungent, over-ripe grapes
make poor jelly—
their pectin is spent.
Fermented mulberries
make birds drunk.
Rotten apples spoil.

Fresh citrus zest
sprays glasses
with tropical mists.
Plump berries,
melons, peaches, grapes
baptize broadly
with each bite,
leave nectar
dripping from
chins, elbows, thumbs, lips.
                                                           
Holidays out of season
excite, but
are costly,
confusing,
unsatisfying

Fall racks sag—
candy cane boxes squeeze between
candy corn bags —
pre-Thanksgiving.
Early starts accelerate cravings;
frenzy,
frustrate,
frazzle.

Buy-Nothing-Day
follows Thanksgiving—
allows a soothing shift
before Advent.
Holydays blocked off
from Ordinary Time
break open,                                           
at their peak                                                         
not to compete,
but celebrate, be savored.

A billion blazing bulbs
and glittering wicks
lighten December’s
deepest gloom—
if not diluted,
spread wantonly
back and forth
on November skies,
or January snows.

Abundance in season,
satisfies—
Eternity
nears at the right
instant—
for now we endure,
still, a time secure.

© Evelyn Merriam

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