Choosing Heaven Or Earth

It was college
and there was
no money
so I lived
on sweet potatoes
and one simple rule: If
I could survive without it,
I did

and shopped at Butler's Pantry,
an untidy place
of dusty light-bulbs
and grey cracked linoleum.
I'd pick up items from shelves
and ask myself

If I don't purchase this today
will I die?

If yes, it went into
the crook of my arm
against my chest
bagged and carried
up stairs to my apartment.
If no, it went back
to its place on the shelf.

That day at Butler's
something smelled
of summer's light
and of summer's air.

A pyramid
tall as my eye
yellow, and red-blushed,
an occasional stem
with a leaf
curling
over firm flesh.
Eyes on
the cleft between
mounded breast of peach,

I picked one up --
not the largest
or the brightest
but the closest --
and inhaled
the wonder at its skin.

Would I die without this?

After I replaced
heaven, and purchased
my pound
of potatoes
I took them home
and washed
peeled
cut
and boiled them.

As I ate
over a physics textbook --
which cost a hundred times
my breakfast, lunch, and dinner --
immersed in the Second
Law of Thermodynamics,
there came
the scent
of peach.



May Kuroiwa