She brings home a handful of windfalls. Smaller than shop bought apples but far more sincere. Their skins a darker green - almost mossy, almost velvet. If apples were thunderclouds they would be this green. If apples were the eyes of a girl who never forgives ...
She slices them into uneven fans and scatters them on a square white dish. They are a funny colour and I eye her offering with a little suspicion. They look more like pieces of potato. But they taste like the summer that never arrived. Like listening to stories while sat on heaps of your mother’s skirt under the tree we never grew.
I bite into their uneven landings - the flavour of a tumble that follows a long cling. I taste their bruises and learn that sometimes bruises taste good.
7 comments:
That is brilliant, conjuring so many strange images (and tastes).
"The flavor of a tumble that follows a long cling..."
I'm carrying this through my day today.
Thank you.
I ate the bruised bit of a banana today and felt that very thing.
beautiful. I can taste it.
As always your words design another world - a better opne - not always - a different yes - and it makes you wonder about many small important things - for that thank you Jem
I love the line - 'They taste like the Summer that never arrived' and the cling and tumbling contrast.
I think I'm often afraid to taste bruises - maybe I should be braver... great photo:)...x
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