Picking Fruit

By Lucia Pasquale

As children
my mother would take us to
the orchard to pick fruit.

Our chubby,
child hands would reach
up into the green,

eager fingers grasping
for whichever fruit
was fattest and juiciest.

By nature, mouths water at the thought
of what is most tender.
By nature, hands want to grip flesh with weight,
the kind that pulls back branches near to snap,

Flirting sweetly
with the tension between
“give” and “take”.

(All bite, and meat, and thinning skin.)

So it only makes sense
that we would pine
for a nectarine gone soft for a bruise.

Why is it then,
that people talk of bodies
as if they are afraid of bodies?

As if “sagging” or “round” or “plump”
could ever be
a bad thing?

Flesh is what makes us full.
To ripen is what makes life sweet.


Lucia Pasquale writes poems and currently resides in Southern California. Her work has been published in Soliloquies Anthology, Literary Orphans, and the Alcala Review. She is currently Art Editor at Vagabond City Literary Journal.