by Claire Zoghb
First date: an afternoon in the country, a stop
at a roadside farm-stand. You choose two red-skinned
beauties, shine them against your navy cardigan –
its solemn color brings out your scholar — remark
how the apples back in your home country grow
to three times this size. Through corridors of flame,
we drive the hills, our next words wait on our tongues
while we crunch our apples. Approaching the heart of mine,
I glance your way to watch how you discard your core.
It disappears completely. Stem and all.
I don’t know whether to be frightened or impressed
by this man who eats apples whole, takes everything into
himself and leaves nothing behind. Not even one polished
brown seed, hardened in the shape of a tear.
This originally appeared in Dogwood 2008.