Fruit
Roots holdfast to the centre of the earth
Blossom froths up to worship the sun
Between these fire anchors
An unknown tree hums
The dutiful daughter must die to be free
petals soon fall with their glory and hope
their announcement never is the end
life breaks the acorn to become oak
It takes that ordinary aggression to fuel
the weeks of hard work to come to leaf
to bear that loss and the heat of day
months of making flesh, bitter or sweet
I cannot predict the harvest and the fruit
I’ve never tasted. Could this be that other tree?
If it is and there is no omnipotent father
Will there be a snake and Adam because I am Eve?
Eve
It wasn’t the sweet juice
and crunch of knowledge
that Eve was after
in taking the whole fruit
as offered
she got the seeds in the core
She wanted to plant five trees
make a garden of her own
with no gates or guards
She wanted to tend an orchard
And never say no
to anyone hungry or curious
She who runs the show
I’ve thought of the earth as receiving the lightning strike
reaching only a short charge up to meet it.
But what if it is She who runs the show
lifting a finger and saying
You, here, now, meet me?
What if some days She lifts both hands
points all fingers and thumbs
says you and you and you
here, here
now, meet me?
What if one day She stands from the fire seat
at the centre of the earth
her head crowns and breaks this ground we stand on
raises both arms and pulls down the Milky Way
just to warm her shoulders?
There is no distance between us
it does not exist
She will send us running into each other’s arms
for dear life
astonished at our forgetting.
Amanda Barlow
Picture Rupert Loydell
.