Let her not like the apricots,
that’s one way to do it. Just say,
Oh. Or, Hmm. But no.
I question her dislike,
want to serve her apricots so ripe
they have fallen to the orchard floor,
sun warmed and red cheeked
and soft so soft.
I want to serve her the juiciest ones,
the apricots so ripe you have to hold your hand
far in front of your mouth and lean,
or better yet, the apricot you eat as you stand
beneath the tree and offer your mouth
to the branch and suckle the juice, let
it runnel down the chin, the cheeks, the neck,
I wanted to serve her apricots. It is like wanting
to convince someone who likes blue
that instead they should like red.
Why do I defend the apricot?
It occurs to me whole countries go to war
just this way … with one person who says
they know better. One person who knows
what God is like, or what is good, or what is right.
I’m sorry, I tell her, when I call her back. And she laughs.
And I laugh. How easy it is to get lost
on the way to something sweet.
Indeed, “how easy it is to get lost/on the way to something sweet.”
I think it’s human tendency to take our likes and dislikes personally; so when someone whom matters doesn’t share them, we start forcing the issue, so it’s not us that’s wrong—or our beloved. A sorta snarky perspective on the matter is that if she doesn’t like apricots, that leaves more for you.
Indeed, again, as per the cliche: The majority of wars have been fought over differing names for the same God.
I like how you start the poem with the ending, that you could just let her NOT like the apricots, but then that inner voice of not trusting those who don’t like what we like, of trying to change that mind. So perfectly human, so perfectly amusing. That you drift off to the larger things of differing opinions is a plus…
One thing…I wonder if line 16 ought to stay in the present tense, “I want to serve her…”.
So right on about keeping it present tense …