Fruit as Love

I’ve always loved fruit. My mom, the Notorious Babs, instilled this in me. We would park ourselves in apricot and cherry trees and strawberry patches and gorge like bear cubs, and then think about canning, freezing, jam, and pies later.

And in some of my lowest moments, kind souls have shown up with random acts of fruit generosity. I have tasted a Colson Creek peach so sweet and juicy that it took my mind off pain and misery; I’ve had a cotton shopping bag full of Terrace Street pears delivered to me that saved me from going to the grocery store at time when I could not bear to go.

And two days ago, while Chef and I were in Coronavirus quarantine in Argentina subsisting on a dozen carne empanadas, our new landlady Liliana brought us plums from her tree.

This sweet gesture triggered a memory of a poem I had enjoyed once. Google helped me remember that it was William Carlos Williams’ “This is Just to Say”.

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

And which

you were probably


for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

6 thoughts on “Fruit as Love

  1. Ahh, William Carlos Williams, and what a delicious poem to share. Acts of kindness, like Liliana’s will be the moments we remember later about this strange time in our world.

  2. Beautiful! I’ve always pictured that poem scribbled on a scrap of paper and left on the kitchen counter next to some bread crumbs. Williams is right up there with ee cummings for knowing how to capture much in few words.

  3. Pingback: The Argentina Adventure—Episode 7 | Podunk Meets Paradise

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