August 2026 Poem of the Month
Ripe
By Aria
Man at fruit stand
gropes every fruit
rubs his thumb up and down
picks at their peels
exposing their flesh
while he barks
slurs and church hymns,
as if they can hear him.
Sir,
you can’t just tear them open
and toss them aside.
He sighs, stamping.
A peach rolls, bruised.
They are too ripe anyway.
You are just ripe enough.
I whisper to them, just in case.
Aria is an emerging local poet who has never climbed to the top of the Empire State Building, but has been eating fresh fruit and vegetables lately, which somehow feels even more daring. She loves visiting local fruit stands and believes there's no better place to find inspiration…or a perfect snack.
If she were a fruit, she would be an avocado: misunderstood, a little tough on the outside, and well worth the effort it takes to get past the shell. She is currently working on a poetry collection that explores the many meanings, memories, and metaphors connected to fruit.