Bananas grace my counter,
Hanging on a time machine.
The first speckle rising as the
They remind of the persistence of time.
They remind me of the persistence of memory.
They remind me of urgency.
They remind of malleability.
The texture slipping from firm
The smell rising
I’ve learned that monkeys know
To peel the banana from what we call
We’re not so smart.
I love the melt of a slightly overripe
On my tongue or
In my oatmeal.
Best of all,
Transformed by sugar, butter, flour,
I love bananas when they are