Green Pear Tree in September

By Freya Manfred

On a hill overlooking the Rock River 
my father’s pear tree shimmers, 
in perfect peace, 
covered with hundreds of ripe pears 
with pert tops, plump bottoms,  
and long curved leaves. 
Until the green-haloed tree 
rose up and sang hello, 
I had forgotten. . .  
He planted it twelve years ago, 
when he was seventy-three, 
so that in September 
he could stroll down  
with the sound of the crickets 
rising and falling around him, 
and stand, naked to the waist, 
slightly bent, sucking juice 
from a ripe pear.

You can find this poem in Swimming With a Hundred Year Old Snapping Turtle.