Peaches and Pens

 

PEACHES

Don’t tell me the sale price of peaches.

Tell me if you bought them at the green grocers

where the woman chats about recipes

while her fingers dance on the register keys.

Or were they stacked high

between apples and apricots?

 

Had you been searching for peaches,

or were you looking for carrots

when peaches caught your eye?

Did you fight temptation

thinking yourself weak to give in?

 

Tell me about their perfume,

and if fuzz tickled your hand

when you dropped them in a bag.

Did the first one taste sweet

or was it tasteless,

over engineered,

traveling well and

looking pretty in a bowl,

but never meant to impress taste buds?

And when you finished

Did you want another?

PENS 

I feel the same way about pens as some people feel about their cell phones or cars. 

 

Every time I put one in my hand, it is special. It doesn't matter if I'm signing a document or making a grocery list. The feel, the color, the weight all become a sensual experience for me. 

 

Despite my minimalism, I've a collection of pens: The one in the photo is like the one I found in a silent auction in Barcelona at the World Council of Credit Unions annual conference. A minute before the auction closed I rushed in and upped the price by $20.

 

One of the most precious pens I have is the silver Carn d'Ache given to us by the village. Not only is it delicately beautiful with a tip that improves my handwriting, we signed our marriage documents with it.

 

Thus the other day when I was in Annecy France. I passed a pen store, the black fountain pen decorated with delicate yellow flowers in the window made me stop. 

 

"How much?" I asked the owner.

 

"1150 Euros." That's $1,279 or 1,186 CHF. 

 

Despite being economical on almost everything -- yes, I reuse tinfoil, a dab of toothpaste and I don't replace things that still work for the sake of replacement. By being economical in almost everything, I can splurge at time but no way.

 

"I have one that's less." He led me into the store -- Pen Paradise.

 

The one he showed me was also beautiful, although it had a few less blossoms, but still was beautiful. I debated holding it.

 

"540 Euros," he said. That's $600 or 557 CHF.

 

I walked out of the store penless.

I thought about my poem Peaches written in the 1990s. For me a peach will always be a treat to see, feel, smell, taste. Likewise, a pen every time I go to put a mark on paper, will be something I savour doing. As for that pen in Annecy, I'd love to have it in my collection. 

 

Just not at the price.