A thick and dense fruit, exceedingly rare; only two of this species left: one in the back of a lab in Bethesda, awaiting DNA testing, and the other, "whereabouts unknown," sits at this moment in the hand of a little girl whiling away her afternoon in a plastic lawn chair,
overhot and watching her mother's back as it heaves up and down with the labor of weedpulling, the Grass Cardamom, its fragrance of pears in hot rain, inching closer to her mouth.