An Apple Is Not a Story
Its ripeness holds
the weight, tipping juicy
balances with time. Forbidden,
to be consumed in one sitting,
tasting line by line, nibbling
crisp tart words, to salivate and satisfy
her vast unquenchable curiosity.
Mystery rests in this pale delicate flesh.
An apple is more than a story. Its primly
wrapped promise a ruse concealing
secrets of the soil that sustains it
with seeds buried for doubting tongues.
Coming to life for those not
afraid of seeing. Glutted with ripe
flesh, wasps murmur in the grass,
earth-bound with drunkenness,
heedless of the roaring blade
waiting in the trees for its resurrection.
Chlorophyll-laden leaves transform
rays of sun into nectar-filled flowers
that become crimson
harbingers of joy, and foreteller of truths.
She steps carefully over the circle
of bodies that surround her.
© Diane Stepro, 2013
Diane Stepro holds an MFA in writing poetry and an MLS in library science from Indiana University. She has taught college English for longer than she cares to admit. Currently, she teaches at Northern Virginia Community College and lives near the Potomac River with her husband, two teenagers, and an assortment of cats and dogs.
