– a pome poem
“An apple is not a story,”
she said with resonant voice,
“its ripeness holds the weight of
balances tipping, juicy with time.
Its crisp tart words are not to be consumed
in one sitting, but nibbled line by line,
and so salivate unquenchably vast curiosity
– and satisfy.
Mystery rests in its pale delicate flesh.
An apple is MORE than a story.
It’s a primly wrapped promised pome,
a ruse, a guise concealing secrets
of the soil that sustain it in
seeds buried for doubting tongues.
Coming to life for those unafraid of seeing,
like common wasps, glutted with flesh-laden nectar,
murmuring in the grass, earth-bound with drunkenness,
heedless of the roaring day while,
waiting in the trees for resurrection
the chlorophyll-laden leaves transform sun-rays into
nectar-filled flowers that will become crimson
harbingers of joy, foretellers of truths.”
Silent then, she stepped carefully over the circle of fruits,
the bodies that surrounded her.
© Dave Lego, 2013
Dave has been an avoid misspeller since early chidehood.