Goodbye foam pear, once my grandmother’s, till I slipped it from her sideboard into my suitcase during a visit to her home, back when she was living in Oxnard, back when she was. Goodbye foam pear with bite marks from my child, who pressed his teeth into it while looking me in the eye, a hunter who has many times been thwarted but now captures his prey. Goodbye foam pear that liked to hide in the fruit bowl, by the apples and kiwis, back when it still looked like something you might slice and have with yogurt in the morning. Goodbye foam pear, nearly weightless memento. Now memory alone will have to suffice.
