Persimmon Poem/A poem for my mom

by Marion McKinney

If you let them sit In the box atop the fridge You might just forget And in a few days They’ve waxed and waned, skin blushed Their hard shells now soft

And on your way home, You might think: “My persimmons!” With delight then fear

As you realize You’ve let your mom’s favorite Fruit begin to rot.

You carefully reach And peer inside, finding two Precious fruit. Too ripe.

You call your mom, heart Sunken, “I waited too long” For her childhood joy.

She laughs, “Mei guanxi!” “Don’t worry!” And tells you to put them in The freezer, saying

They’re perfect. That when She was a kid, she placed them Out in the winter

And in the morning Cool, overripe persimmon Is the most juicy!