Sacred Fruit

The pear waits, blushing,
In its pottery bowl.
I sit with it, warming its cool skin
With my lips,
Imagining musky sweetness.
The blade cuts into the white center,
Revealing the outline of a fat-hipped goddess.

All of its growth, all its ripening,
Has lead to this moment.
My moment.
My teeth lever off a piece.
By habit or experience I know to slurp as I bite
Clear earthy sugars.

I consume its power.
In a state of wonder, I know
That I have just closed the loop
of Creation.
The pear becomes my energy,
Its juice, my blood.
The pear has become This poem.

Take, eat, this is my life, given for you.
This do in remembrance
Of soil, of sunlight, of tree
Of farmer, of trucker, of grocer
Of me.


10/17/98