The cantaloupe was golden
beneath its raised veins,
the globe of it heavy in my hands,
its musky perfume filling the hot
summer air at the farmstand.
When I handed the woman my money,
I was paying her not so much for this melon,
but for the memory of other melons
we have shared when I moaned my delight,
the sweet orange flesh deliquescing
in our eager mouths.
This melon was no such melon.
Though we waited and waited,
when I sliced in and offered you a bite,
we both agreed the flesh was a bit too hard,
the flavor sweet but a little flat.
A fine-enough melon. But not a melon
for rhapsodizing or writing an ode.
I think of Grandma Betty, how
in her later years it didn’t matter
what you served her, she would always declare,
This is the best pie I ever had.
This is the best tea I’ve ever had.
This is the best. The best.
This is not the best cantaloupe I have ever had,
just a substandard stand in for ecstasy. Yet here I am
writing an ode to this mediocre melon, learning again
how my longing for something to be different from what it is
can destroy any joy found in what is here.
Somehow, this fine-enough melon is bringing me to my knees
at the altar of the moment, humbling me, inviting me to question
how I choose to meet the world.
It is, perhaps, after all, the best melon I have ever had.
Posts Tagged ‘fruit’
The Teacher
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cantaloupe, comparison, enough, fruit, grandmother, presence, showing up on August 4, 2026| 21 Comments »
The Chosen
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged choosing, chosen, connection, fruit, grocery store, melon, prayer on August 2, 2025| 3 Comments »
You hear how this one is dull, she said,
as she knocked on the melon.
I rapped the green skin and nodded.
Now, she said, try this one.
I knocked and heard the brightness.
Vibrant, she said. Vibrant, I agreed.
She picked it up and handed the melon
to me. This one, she said. Choose this one.
Tonight, I imagine some great hand
coming to knock on my chest, rapping
just above my heart, testing me
to see if I am one worth choosing.
I’m surprised by the prayer that arrives.
Choose us all, please, choose us all.
Sacred Pause
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, fruit, hiking, noticing, pause, wildflowers on June 30, 2025| 2 Comments »
Only when I stop hiking
do I finally see the flowers
of the wild blueberries,
first one, then five, then
they are everywhere—
everywhere! How did I
miss all the tiny pink bells
that will soon become
dark sweet fruit? How often,
in my haste, do I miss
what is right here, the thing
I most long to see? Once
I start seeing the blueberry
flowers, I can’t stop seeing
them. Sometimes it’s like
this with kindness. With peace.
With beauty. With love.
The Ripening
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fruit, imperfection, marriage, patience, pears, ripening on September 19, 2024| 11 Comments »
At the roadside stand,
I buy you a flat of pears.
They are hard and slightly
scarred, lumpy as Bartletts
often are, still wearing
the deep green of unripe fruit.
Some bear a garish red blush
on their shoulders where
the leaves did not hide them,
and all are stippled
with freckle-like dots, each one
a small celebration of imperfection.
There will be a day soon
when the pears will golden
and the warm kitchen air
will be thickly strung
with the scent of pear,
sweet and floral,
a scent that reminds
me of walking the rows
of the orchard in long ago summers
gleaning the smallest fruits.
Sometimes what is left behind
has the chance to become sweeter
than what first seemed more prized.
Remember how we’d pull tree-ripe pears
from the branches to our mouths,
white juice baptizing our chins?
I like the way you lift one now
from the counter,
feel its heft as if testing
for goodness yet to come.
We are no strangers to patience.
Year after year, we have watched
what is hard become treasure.
We have taken the lesson into our bodies,
these imperfect bodies, slightly
scarred, more lumpy with every year,
but oh, the ripening.
Of Tenderness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Clementine, communication, fruit, trust on April 19, 2023| 7 Comments »
So easily the thin rind
pulls away from the Clementine
to reveal what is soft,
what is sweet.
It matters, I think,
the way we offer
ourselves to each other.
I think of how it falls open,
the peel of the ripe clementine.
I think of how sometimes,
when I ask how you are,
you, too, fall open
and give me everything.
What a gift
when I don’t need to pry.
What a gift, the bright scent
of conversation,
how the tang of it
lingers in the air.
I long to open
for you this way, too.
Trust begins here.
What the Peach Knows
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, development, fruit, peach, soul, sweetening on December 4, 2022| 7 Comments »
It is night
that keeps the peach
from ripening too fast,
the cool of the dark
that allows the sugar
to develop, to grow—
oh soul, is it any wonder
I have started
to pray for longer nights?
Quince
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, fruit, newness, perfume, quince on November 18, 2022| 6 Comments »
for Christie
Shaggy and mottled,
lumpy as an old woman’s thighs,
five quince recline in the shallow bowl
and all day I marvel
as the delicate scent opens,
exotic and fragrant,
like guava, like honey,
like citrus, vanilla.
Every year my friend
harvests me quince from her tree,
and every year they somehow
astonish me again.
As if I didn’t know.
As if their sweetness is new.
Perhaps the annual forgetting is a gift,
because what joy
in falling in love with them
again each year,
their bright yellow scent,
the honest perfume of friendship,
the thrill in their ripening.
Late Summer
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, fruit, harvest, orchard, present, summer on August 28, 2022| 8 Comments »
for Vivian and Christie
This lyric afternoon with its fruit trees
and friendship and barest kiss of rain,
is it so wrong to want to save it, the way
I will process the dark plums into jam?
Is it so wrong to want to preserve
the honeyed song of summer, the warmth
of sun, the pleasure of an afternoon
with my daughter and a friend?
An ovation of thunder.
Scent of basil. Purr of cat.
The creamy fuzz of the growing quince.
The joy as we try for the first time
black apricots, their skin so surprising,
their flesh so nectar-ish. I will freeze
most of the ripe blackberries we gathered,
will savor them come snow, come cold.
A day such as this is like yeast in wheat dough—
it’s not there just for taste, it’s the difference
between bread and a brick.
It invites a trust there will be other days
filled with elation. Dig in, it seems to say.
Don’t save for later what can only be lived today.
Even the disbelief that a day could be so good—
that too, tastes so nourishing, so sweet.
The Gift
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, food, fruit, grief, love, mother, pomegranate, ripening, son on October 21, 2021| 6 Comments »
It still had its leaves on it,
the pomegranate she handed me.
And holding that smooth red sphere
in my palm, I felt not only
the jeweled weight of each bright seed,
but also the weight of the many nights
the fruit had hung on the tree,
felt how the nights had slowed the growth
so the fruit could develop more sugar.
Not all things get to ripen.
Oh, this small gift of sweetness.
How it opened in me such red tenderness—
the memory of a boy learning how
to open and eat a pomegranate,
scarlet juice trickling down his chin.
And now. I hold it in awe,
this beautiful thick-skinned globe,
hold it less like a fruit,
hold it more like a love
I was just beginning to know.
Burst
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fruit, hiking, plum, ripening on August 3, 2021| 6 Comments »
So full of sugar,
the ripe plums
on the counter
begin to split
their skin—a sign
they’re beginning
the journey
to wine.
Sometimes,
like today,
hiking through
spruce forests and
wildflower meadows,
past beaver ponds
and through
clearings of chanterelles,
I, too, feel as if
I could split—
so filled with
the sweetness
of life I almost
explode,
tipsier by the moment
broken open
by joy.
On Days When the World Seems Stingy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged augusta kantra, fruit, generosity, satsuma on February 22, 2021| 7 Comments »
—for Augusta Kantra
I remember that day when Augusta and I
stood beneath the satsuma tree at her front gate
and pulled dozens of bright orange spheres
from the branches, filled a basket to brimming,
and still the tree was weighted with fruit.
I remember how easily the leather skin peeled away,
the way I always wish an orange might peel.
I remember the juicy sweet flesh—sweeter
than most citrus. I remember it was seedless,
a surprise generosity. And the colder it is,
the sweeter the satsuma will grow.
But most of all, I remember Augusta—
her love-ripened smile, her sunny chatter,
her contagious gratitude
for the tree, the fruit, the scent of soft rain, the day.
I remember how she thrilled to share with me
something I’d never known before,
how she handed me my first satsuma—
her palm upright, extended,
and in it a small proof of abundant goodness
just waiting to be opened.
Out of Reach
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged craving, fruit, longing, poem, poetry, wanting on January 13, 2020| 2 Comments »
The crystal vase on the top shelf,
the one that holds two dozen roses.
The Hallelujah Chorus’s high A.
The perfect word that flutters away.
The name of the man walking toward you.
The card that slips between the seats.
The itch on your back. The dream upon waking.
World peace. Inner peace. Any peace.
In the kitchen, a persimmon
with its stubborn glossy skin. A knife
with its shrewd steel edge. Oh this art
of choosing to want what’s in hand—
sweet honeyed flesh, yielding and soft.
Oh this craving for blood oranges, tart and red.
On Eating My First Muscadine Grapes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged food, fruit, kissing, muscadine grapes, poem, poetry on October 3, 2019| 4 Comments »
I mean, are you kidding me?!
They’re just grapes, sure, but
more like what every kiss wants to be—
surprising and unpredictable.
Intensely sweet, spicy, too,
and tough, unwilling to be summed up,
making me pucker at the same time
I long for more, something
I happened to find in the store,
but the taste, the round essence, is wild,
unable to be tamed.
It’s enough to make a woman wonder
how she’s never tried this before,
as if the world’s been holding out on her—
and if this new thrill is possible, well, then
what else might be out there for a woman to find?
After a Frost
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apricot blossom, apricots, fruit, love, orchard, poem, poetry on May 2, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I remember walking the orchard rows
and picking ten flowers from ten apricot trees,
then opening them with my thumbnail,
one by one, peeling back the white petals
to reveal the telling heart. In some,
the pistil and style were still green,
in others, shriveled and black.
We could estimate percentages—
how much of the crop had survived.
It takes only a half an hour for a killing frost
to render barren dozens of acres of trees.
And what of the human heart? If it
had blossoms, could we count them, too,
and say after a cold spell, what chance
love had of staying on the tree? Is it
simply a matter of degree? And duration,
too, of course. Or is there something more?
Sometimes the loss of fruit is a blessing—
the tree can only support so much.
But is it the same with love? Is there
a kindness in loss? Or is love not like
the cherry tree, not like the apricot?
Does it want only to thrive, to blossom,
to offer as much as it can?
And let’s say there is no fruit.
Trees still need water, need nourishment.
So much investment for what looks
like a season when nothing will ripen.
Tell yourself, one season is not
the life of an orchard. Tell yourself
sometimes it’s worse than it seems.
Sometimes there’s life high up in the tree.
Sometimes it’s a killing freeze.
In Susan’s Backyard
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged boys, fruit, plum, poem, poetry on September 20, 2013| 1 Comment »
Spryly
highly
yesly
mumly
Aiden
climbs the
laden
plum tree
smiley
wily
sparkling
eye-ly
Aiden
tosses
ripe plums
highly
through
the air
my hands
are there
sweet boy
who lives
so me
oh my-ly.
Sticky
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged eve, fruit, kauai, naming, poem, poetry, temptation on April 10, 2013| 1 Comment »
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.