As the young tree bearing first fruit,
I blossomed and grew
’til my branches felt the weight of ripeness.
As the harvester seeking sweetness,
you found me and tasted
what was barely ready for picking.
With each swelling bud, burst,
bloom, and petal fall
I bore fruit – sweet, tender, green and bruised.
With each taking, you took too much.
With each giving, I lost too much.
Until you wished to taste another…
My tree grew heavy with fruit unpicked,
branches drooped and laden with sorrow,
until you came to harvest once more –
my fruit so full it fell into your waiting hands.
You caught it with the reverence
of one who had been starved.
Yet, as your demands grew greater,
my branches reached higher,
taking my fruit away from your reach.
NOTE: This poem is partially inspired by the NaPoWriMo.net prompt for Day #2 – write a poem about your own road not taken – about a choice of yours that has “made all the difference,” and what might have happened had you made a different choice. This poem became more about leaving a bad situation than the potential future though.
S.T. Marie 