Sticker
Someone held this apple,
turned it beneath the light
to judge the grain of its skin, the color,
its resistance to being gripped.
To spare us this phenomenology,
apples get labeled.
Granny Smith, a sticker reads, and we ready
our tongues for tartness.
We know that our teeth easily dig into Gala,
and that the deep red skin of the McIntosh
is tough, slightly bitter.
So few experiences announce themselves to us
in this way.
At very least we can agree on
what happens in the unnameable darkness of the mouth.
Hi Hannah,
ReplyDeleteThis is a great poem: "So few experiences announce themselves to us in this way." And then your poem speaks to the commonality of the experience, and the agreement. I enjoy the use of the concept of phenomenology, pertaining to the labeling of apples.
Merry Christmas!
Another wonderful poem, Hannah. I'm amazed at your top-quality quantity.
ReplyDeleteMerry Christmas! And may the New Year bring you much continued writing success.
oh I like this poem very much, it makes me think of the apples in Crafty Green Boyfriend's parents garden, we don't know what variety they are but we know they will always be the tastiest eating apples or the best cooking apples for crumbles!
ReplyDeleteHave a wonderful Christmas!
This poem makes me think of childhood, when i didn't know about different kinds of apples. My mouth could tell the difference, but not until I bit in. It's a nice memory.
ReplyDeleteThis is so timely. A friend of mine who lives in California just posted on Facebook that she'd spent what felt like half a day peeling stickers off of fruit. I'm going to send her this link.
ReplyDeleteget your stickers ready.
ReplyDeleteaccording to
the Washington Apple Commission: there are 7500 varities of apples.
from Therese L. Broderick -- I like the "annunciation" aspect of this poem, so close to a holy birth day. Also the three apple names, like the three names of the Wise Men. Also the red and green colors, like Christmas. (At Christmas, I love the tiny lady apples. They are so delicious.)
ReplyDelete