I figured it out after you ate
the palm sized sugary plump plums,
after you left the twelve line letter
on the granite kitchen counter,
unsigned, that did not explain
why you ate the plums but not the leftovers
I left you in the transparent tupperware
clearly labeled Tuesday dinner on the first
shelf of the fridge. I can see juice dripping
down your chin, index
finger wiping sweet residue, chunks of skin
that may have stuck to your cheek mid chew.
I read all of the poems
you scribbled under bills and prescriptions pads.
I knew you would eat the plums.
Abriana Jetté is the editor of the #1 best selling anthology “50 Whispers: Poems by Extraordinary Women”, and teaches for St. John’s University and for the City University of New York. For more, please visit abrianajette.com