• Ross McKeachie

Fruit Salad

A fruit tree

may be

the most evolved being

on planet Earth,

if we measure by one’s capacity

for generousity.



The fruit tree, she

puts her roots down

wherever she is dropped

as a seed.


She does not argue,

negotiate,

take a year off to travel.


She gets right to the business of

becoming a source of beauty and sustenance.


When she has toiled and matured,

in Spring she flowers,

scenting and colouring our Winter gray hangover,

calling bees and butterflies to branch,

to petal.


Our beloved Fruit Mother collects pollen,

pulls water and mineral from Earth,

eats the Sun.


An elemental alchemist,

birthing fruit from every blossom.


All this effort she makes, why?

Out of love for you and I.


Hundreds of babies she grows,

makes plump,

colourful cradles,

coddled, caressed,

blessed.


She holds them out,

no grasping in love,

an offering,

all of her - an offering.


We fill our buckets

at her altar.


I don’t recall a fruit tree ever saying,

“A thank you would be nice now and again!”


Fountain of fruit.

Sweet orgy of flesh.

Juices dripping.

Seeds flying.

Moans of delight.


Apple.

Peach.

Orange.

Mango.

Rapture.