Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Miriam Wei Wei Lo

Fruit in Season 1: Eating Loquats in the Spring Rain

Fruit in Season 1: Eating Loquats in the Spring Rain

Fruit in Season 1: Eating Loquats in the Spring Rain

Ripe at last. The spindly nondescript tree
at the front of the church has finally taken some colour:
small yellow moons in clusters, Chinese lanterns.
Rain stammers down like bursts of praise
from a hesitant tongue.

Orbs of pale sunlight, lightly furred skin
gives way to melon sweetness. Smooth brown seeds
spit out on the pavers like stones. Sticky-fingered,
the youngest child gobbles, calling out: “More, more!”
Nothing but happiness.
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Fruit in Season 1: Eating Loquats in the Spring Rain

Ripe at last. The spindly nondescript tree
at the front of the church has finally taken some colour:
small yellow moons in clusters, Chinese lanterns.
Rain stammers down like bursts of praise
from a hesitant tongue.

Orbs of pale sunlight, lightly furred skin
gives way to melon sweetness. Smooth brown seeds
spit out on the pavers like stones. Sticky-fingered,
the youngest child gobbles, calling out: “More, more!”
Nothing but happiness.

Fruit in Season 1: Eating Loquats in the Spring Rain

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