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The Undoing of Fruit by Alicia Boemi
Her lore is mystical—
not a goddess but
feminine in her divinity,
guiding but not fraught.
On that one day,
she rose high, an apple in a treetop, and
five weightless petals fell from her—
One
two,
three,
four,
and five.
Pastel, purple in hues,
she was ripe and sweet, waiting to be undone.
To take all she needs but
give all she can.
Transformative as the number she gave away,
she shed not only petals, but also thorns,
and
her
head.
It fell first, but not to the wayside.
Her cheeks were rosy as she tumbled down.
You could see her go—
she landed on the lush, loamy ground.
She was
bruised,
cut,
brown seepage around her wounds.
She lived like this,
but with endless power, too.
She found her voice in the leas,
and did not take heed…
of the men who came before her,
those men who were always seduced,
men who could never lead.