Fruit Lovers

Here is another food poem. I was reading Gayle Brandeis' book Fruitflesh and was inspired. I tried eating ugly fruit for inspiration, but none came. Yuk. Thanks for reading!

Fruit Lovers

Some lament the crude American palate
ruining fruit
cooling, cubing and paring
into crisp neat juiceless cubes.

They say,
these fruit lovers,
that from farm
to grocery
fruit is losing its truth.

What joy,
then,
in the young farm girl
working for pennies
and fresh fruit
kneeling through the summer
in the hard hot dirt
picking berries.

She works beside her mother
a woman farmer
barefoot, too, and braless
in the strawberry field
and when they both
take a break
stop
to uncurve
their moistened backs
and stretch their sunburned necks
they share the truth.

A berry apiece
red and fat from the sun
brushing the dust
from hot pitted skin
carefully plucking the fruit
from beneath its green leaf embrace

biting in lips first
the juice like paint on their chins
warmth of fresh fruit
summer’s love berry
sweet and good
finger staining
fresh picked truth.

One is enough
then they kneel and bend
and begin filling their baskets again.