LOVE OVERSLEPT

I found a plum-heart boy weeping under his tree one august evening. Broken branches and ripped leaves above his head pointed clearly to where he fell from, right out of the green crown, straight onto the ground. His bones were not broken.
Overripe and wasp ridden plums that too had fallen down wafted a decadent sweetness and tears came in to my eyes.
Venomous stings cut into my feet and numbed my heels as I walked barefoot toward the tree to hold the boy.
He wrapped his stiff arms around me and I felt his clenched fists rest on my back. They would not open. They would only dangle.

He wept while I held him, and I knew he wasn’t there even though I could touch him.

And then, just before the last slice of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, he looked at me and I felt his hands open:

You know that fruit…
Stone hard one august morning,
Dead floppy same august night?

Way too hard on august morning
Way too floppy the same august night