Seduction

Peculiar, the way it starts out small,

then swells to a big fat bottom cupped
in my hand. I wish I could love it,
but something there is about a pear
I can’t embrace–that stem popping up
like an exclamation point forcing excitement,
the texture of the skin, not velvety like the peach
or apricot, nor burnished like a cherry or plum,
and the grittiness of the flesh inside.

I cannot love a man
who loves the pear; yet you attempt seduction,
cajoling like a courtier: Whatever can be done
with an apple can be done with a pear.

Anjou, Bartlett, and Bosc–rose-red, lime-green,
russet-toned, and crimson-freckled–
you poach, sauté, and stew, simmer
in sauces and chutney, slice and spice in a pie.
You place your pear in a blender and whip it
into a smoothie. Like an auctioneer at Sotheby’s,
you trace its provenance from the volcanic soil
of Washington to a farmer’s market in New Jersey.

Though I refuse to taste
your pear, you appeal to my desire for physical
fitness, displaying your fruit and boasting
of its potassium and vitamin C. Cholesterol, none.
Calories, a minimal 100. You ply me
with dietary fiber. And now a basket spilling
gourmet pears from Harry and David,
each lovingly wrapped in foil, filling the air
with the redolence of pear.

Diane Lockward is the author of three poetry books, What Feeds Us, which received the 2006 Quentin R. Howard Poetry Prize, Eve’s Red Dress, and, most recently, Temptation by Water. Her poems have been included in such anthologies as Poetry Daily: 360 Poems from the World’s Most Popular Poetry Website and Garrison Keillor’s Good Poems for Hard Times and in such journals as Harvard Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, and Prairie Schooner. Her work has also been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and The Writer’s Almanac. This poem is from What Feeds Us.

*Photo courtesy of horstm22.