No one ever said
how high the apple was,
and just how much
of a stretch it might have been
for Eve to pick it.
I think about this today
as I reach for the small, round
purple fruits I cannot name.
There is pleasure and
frustration in not knowing
what to call something
so pleasuresome, so good.
The tree is tall. I do not
need a snake to invite me
to reach. And when I
devour the sweet purple flesh
and the soft cream around
the large black seeds,
I do not need anyone
to bid me take another bite.
I do not share.
From not far away, a rooster
crows. From not far away,
the sound of wind disturbing
dried banana leaves. Those
trees are not so difficult to reach.
Scent of the sea, is it? I do not
pause long to consider the possibilities,
purple juice streaming down
the long, not quite long enough
reach of my arm.
Oh yeah, I know where you are. Everything so lush. But the Eve allusion works nicely here, especially that line “I do not share.” 🙂 One thought: that last line, perhaps it should read …NEVER quite long enough…because clearly the poem establishes that the reach is long enough at least once. The word never would imply that there’s always one more, a bit more lush, a bit higher up.