You could cut the fruit into quarters,

dig out the pit with a knife-tip

to toss atop the overflowing trash. You could

chop it or slice it or otherwise divide

the bright full bulge of it to spread on a plate,

in a bowl, each piece the perfect size to hold.

But a ripe peach is best enjoyed whole. 

Before you eat it, wait until the latest 

part of the day, when the upstairs apartment 

has already cracked its windows open for air. 

Step onto the balcony, where you won’t be disturbed.

Bite big, bite full. Don’t be afraid of the juice–

you are outside. The white moon will encourage you

to open wide. Eat until the juice is dripping

off your elbow tips, until a loose piece of fruit flips 

onto the deck by your toe, until you start to use

both hands to do it. A sweet peach, the moon,

two palms– out here you learn how to hold

what is yours. Carefully, gently enough to keep 

the weight close. Hold too tight and it will slip

so easily into the neighbor’s yard below.