And So It Goes (poem)

And So It Goes

I tore three pieces of fruit from the hanging branches.

One almost overripe in its knowledge of the world;

The second so perfectly formed it created an ache when it touched my lips;

The third so pure, so silent in its ripening redness, showing the blush of promise.

I ate all three.

Chewed them.

Swallowed them.

I tried to hold them in my mouth, but they wouldn’t stay.

Like a wound they bleed out and spread in three directions.

One seeped so far away- carrying its filled self to distant places.

The second curled under my feet, stinging the soles of my feet with the bile

mixed from our two selves.

The third slowly inched away like a silent rain- not wishing harm.

It is early evening.

I stand under the tree.

Three tiny shell white flowers

hold another promise.

But I wither smaller and smaller;

I won’t be able to reach the branches when again they bow.

I settle silently on the prickly grass,

consigned to observe.

Not to speak.

Not to pluck.

Not to eat.

I taste the memory of the fruit

on the tip of my heart.

Teri Coley Adams

September 18, 2011