Wild apple

wild apple

That first sacrament’s
cratered snow was already
turning brown
while they marvelled
at its tartness, the luster
& tight fit of its skin,
its curved descent to orifice.
Then oh the aftertaste —
like wood, like clay.


Click photo for a larger version.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

8 Comments


  1. great photo! i’m partial to wild fruit.

    Reply

    1. Thanks! I only stepped out to take it because I thought I needed an illustration for the poem. I’m glad I did.

      Reply

  2. The last line is so unexpected and arresting: I keep poking at it with my tongue, so to speak.

    And its curved descent to orifice is one of those perfect lines.

    Reply

  3. Thanks, you guys.

    I do love apples. I eat at least a half-dozen a day this time of year. So it’s kind of surprising I don’t write about them more often.

    Reply



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