Fleur
Fleur
a budding village
colorful
filled with people
like an orchard
in full bloom.
the women gather
selling fruit and flowers
growing, branching
out to each other,
a network of sturdy limbs.
her hands are smooth,
small
with short, but slender fingers,
hands of a sapling
prized for future harvest.
her hands searching for fruit
trace the curves of apples
lightly brush the plump oranges
grasps and weighs
the green banana bunches.
I watch her and wonder
if she is a pear,
that ripe womanly fruit,
her hands the stems
connecting her to the village vine.
Wondering out loud
she turns, startled
but responds,
“no, I am merely a flower.”
that young blossom.