Farmers’ Market

Yesterday I was so lonely
I could barely walk,
my friend being mobbed
by her grandchildren
as we made our way
past the farmers’ market’s
delicata squashes, the last
tomatoes. I couldn’t think
what to buy—came home
with nothing but sweet
peppers, myriad colors
in a single flavor, an elusive
solitary note. I watched her
lay her cheek against
the downy faces, saying love
love love love, and would
have wept except I’m dry
of tears. I love how she loves
them and that she has them,
I love them all from my arm’s-
length distance, half-familiar
grandmother’s friend
with a laughing eye, glasses
one might want to pluck
from the top of  her head.
All that touch. That flesh.
The body heat. Fingers woven
together. I am starving.

Source: Poetry (November 2024)