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| Issue 31: | Jan. 2026 |
| Poem: | 103 words |
By Gary Grossman
March Pears
On the vernal equinox last week I bought four Bartlett pears, or were they D’Anjou? All so complicated today, 47 choices in the greenery aisle, unimaginable options like dragon fruit, or durian that reeks like my forgotten basement mouse trap. The pebbly oval of a 20-pound jackfruit, and August pears in March. These chartreuse globes, silky as a Rubensesque torso couch surfing in Old Amsterdam. Honeyed, as pollen from wild daffodils farmed by morning bees. But today is trauma: carbon footprints, pesticides, micro-plastics and Type Two diabetes. One week after the equinox, even the simplest decision is a tightly knotted shoelace.
Gary Grossman,
Professor Emeritus of Animal Ecology, University of Georgia, has poems and essays in 70+ literary reviews. His poetry and short fiction have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fictions. His poetry books Lyrical Years (Kelsay Books, 2023) and What I Meant to Say Was... (Impspired Press, 2023), and his graphic memoir My Life in Fish: One Scientist’s Journey (Impspired Press, 2023) all may be purchased from Amazon or from the author.
Gary enjoys running, music, fishing, and gardening. Learn more about his creative activities at his website: https://www.garygrossman.net/
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