fruit goes with poetry

Still finding funny old titles as I slooowwlly clean up my shelves. No idea where I got half of them, like this one—Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle (Scholastic, 1966). On the inside cover is written, not in my handwriting: English 311, Mrs. Hart. This is always a bonus; I like having an idea what a book’s been up to, imagining who might have read it and why and whether or not it made a difference.

But then every book makes some, even-if-only-so-small-it-seems-insignificant, difference, does it not?



How to Eat a Poem

Don’t be polite.
Bite in.
Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.

You do not need a knife or fork or spoon or plate or napkin or tablecloth.

For there is no core
or stem
or rind
or pit
or seed
or skin
to throw away.

—Eve Merriam


2 thoughts on “fruit goes with poetry

  1. What a juicy discovery. Great images in the poem.

    I think you must have been a Goodwill book shelf prowler at one time. (You might have bumped into me there.) When I moved three years ago, I donated (parting is such sweet sorrow) with many old books that hadn’t seen the light of day for years. I’ve got more in boxes of them in my basement now. I’m about one month away from the finished drywall stage where I’ll unpack them. I wonder what I’ll discover.

    I love how you present your images in your posts, so consistent with spring and summer.

    1. Boxes of books in a basement — sounds like buried treasure. What fun you’re in for!

      And yes, I was (still am) a Goodwill, et al, bookshelf prowler. I love that moment of happy discovery, some wee gem among the dross. It can keep me smiling for days. Weeks even.

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