Alessandra Diridoni Grigsby
The golden globe screams and
pleads from the forest of Delta green,
"Pick me, pick me! I grew up with all
my brothers and sisters through the
fog-kissed mornings, through the
showers both drenching and quenching,
through the blazing sun that turned all our
emerald green skin to the color of
the horizon at sunset.
Iím still here waiting to be chosen as the
centerpiece in a succulent compote, or
as the honored guest in a sweet pastry.
When the big steel blades swept through
our home, their long arms couldnít reach
quite high enough and left those of us
who basked in the sunlight all season.
Pick me that I might not linger too long
on this branch and suffer a fall to the
ground below, where I will meet a most
undignified end and be consumed by
the earth, to nourish yet another
generation of brother and sister pears."