theories on fruit picking by Huyen Hac Helen Tran
theories on fruit picking
I have some theories about fruit picking I would like to run by you.
I apologise if they seem trite, or odd
if the truth I’ve found in them is already obvious.
I will try my best to be succinct—
not take too much of your time.
As time is important and I understand.
Theory one.
When tapping watermelons at the supermarket
it is best not to press your ear against the skin.
This is to avoid hearing echoes,
as hollowness appears imminent
when one is too close.
Theory two.
Apple skins without fail
will taste bitter every single time.
All that comes to mind is Eve,
naked and unknowingly
sitting for punishment. Instead,
the mouth fills itself with air. The hand,
suddenly lighter carries only the skin folded in
on its limpid self.
Theory three.
There is an order
to placing blemished fruit in a basket—
to remark on how indents,
the softness of them,
the curve and the splotches
come to hold steady for when I bite
and those yellowing teeth of mine f
eel the slush, and break
what was never supposed to be there.
A conjecture would be:
If I went to confessional, and in that enclosed stall told
of the time I dropped a watermelon at the store
it would help. If I told of how the
light crimson flesh splayed itself across the floor
Of how I then stamped on a mound and
with each punctured crack,
watched the juice ooze out
from beneath my shoe.
A pulverised sea carrying proof
that all fruit is just flesh
existing to be consumed.
Perhaps if I spoke of how I left the watermelon there,
walked the long way home
then masturbated as soon as I got into bed
all the while thinking
of the sticky underside of my shoe,
it would help.
And lastly a hunch.
Under fluorescent lights
fruit omits
no scent,
no sweetness,
no ripeness.
