This is a new one to me and so nice (and giving echoes of William Carlos Williams). Also, the next time I outgrow another pair of pants, I’m going to say, “My hips are ripening” instead and then it will be poetic.
Tomatoes
by Joy Sullivan
I waited so long for love
and suddenly, here it is
standing in the garden, hands full
of heirlooms hot from the sun.
Soon, we’ll make a supper of them.
Salted slabs between slices of bread.
Your beard silvers. My hips ripen.
The mail piles up.
Phone calls go unanswered. Forgive us.
Our mouths are full of tomatoes.
We are so busy
being small and hungry and alive