Every fruit has its secret

And all fruit begin in seclusion, as blossom
and bee come together. Call it symbiotic.
When beauty is shed in rain and petals
we think of April weddings, death even,
in those pale, temporal moments.
But never birth, yet there it is, nestling in the
core, like the first beat of a heart.

I think of Mulberries and see you still
waiting under heart-shaped leaves
burgeoning with love. In a London park,
the young tree with bark already wizened
sentinel through a thousand deciduous days.
And then a strange, first flowering. Spiked and green
berry-shaped in readiness for the red-black fruity flush.
Some years we'd catch the harvest just in time
thick armed branches, giving a leg up
blooded hands clambering for more
blooded mouths clamouring for one more burst
of that sweet-tart taste

We held our wedding picnic there. The tree
mature now. A late wedding,
one late September. The fruit almost over
but just enough bittersweet remains,
to fill a marriage cup.

Interesting Link
Morus Londinium – unravelling the tale of London’s mulberries

Title taken from a line of Lawrence’s: Figs for this poem based on a memory that a fruit evokes as outlined in Mish’s Poetics Prompt: Always in Season

38 thoughts on “Every fruit has its secret

  1. A gorgeous, nostalgic write. The mulberries are such a beautiful base for memories and reflection.

  2. This is incredibly moving, Laura! I admire the rich use of language here and the emotions they evoke especially; “I think of Mulberries and see you still
    waiting under heart-shaped leaves burgeoning with love.”💜💜 Lovely title too! 🙂

    1. many thanks Sanaa and I’m sure Lawrence would not mind the use of his line for this title – though his figs are x-rated whilst mulberries are just love!

  3. Laura,
    Elegant brilliance. A journey through time under a fruit-laden tree, even as it’s a journey of life and love, punctuated by the burgeoning and yes the bittersweet.

  4. Laura, I like how you shift back and forth between the fruits and your relationship, between life and death, between spring and fall. Such luscious texture and emotion to be found amongst its branches.

  5. A nostalgic and poignant visit to the memories that have to do with the mulberry tree. Beautiful write.

  6. I’ve never tasted mulberries. Maybe we don’t have them here in the colonies. We do have salmon berries, in the mountains though.

    1. they are there somewhere though not native:-
      ” North America has its own endemic species of mulberry – the red mulberry (Morus rubra) – which can produce majestic trees in its native forests. Some of the oldest mulberry trees in the USA today, though, are white mulberries (Morus alba), introduced on a large scale in the 17th to 19th centuries for a homegrown silk industry “

  7. Sweet-sour memories just like the summertime fruits, but worthy of relishing.

  8. “blooded hands clambering for more
    blooded mouths clamouring for one more burst
    of that sweet-tart taste”…brought back memories of childhood. Splendid writing… part wistful, part bittersweet but elegant throughout.

  9. What a fascinating poem! It begins with an unusual observation and ends with an unexpected change of direction… as if it were really about something else all the time, or perhaps wanted to set off in pursuit of something else leaving us gazing after it.
    I’ve only discovered your blog today. Having wandered up and down your recent posts I’m very glad I found it and look forward to seeing more. Best wishes, John

    1. I am glad you felt it David – thank you – it’s not easy to share the personal but the personal is common place to us all at one time or another

    1. thanks ken – and yes am well up on London mulberries. Martin as an East end London boy knew the location of many of them including Spitalfieds

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