rainier cherries

clara peeters, still life with cheese, artichoke, and cherries

are you eating rainier cherries without me this summer?
i'm eating rainier cherries without you this summer
but it's not like eating cherries without you before.
i eat them slowly, saying, "what's so different?"
to the little black cat i touch instead of you.
the gloss is the same as the day i brought them to you,
the red-gold dapple, the peachy flesh that surprised you.
i liked giving you fruit. i wanted to give you fruit.

i worried about keeping what you gave me,
the books we read together, the years we spent together.
i didnt know to worry about your tendrils creeping
back into who i was before i met you.
there is no memory of summer cherries
that doesn't lead to eating them with you.

so i wonder if you're eating cherries without me.
are you still who i changed you to? changing you changed me.