six apricots

one freckled like a songbird’s breast

I’ll take and offer you

mixed with cold cream cheese

from the fridge

five apricots left

velvet skin gives way

to bronze juice sweet pith

sticky finger tips

four apricots

an imperfect square

in the circle of the bowl

one for your dessert

leaves three apricots

the colour of sunset

one is perfect

with fresh coffee

two apricots

like sleepy heads

at siesta one more

on waking

one apricot left there

for the taking I hold it

breathe it find no words

for all it says to me

Miriam Darlington, from Windfall