Diane Seuss wrote that
Silence has a roundness like an apple
which is why Eve and Adam were expelled
to shout and shriek and scream and bawl
and moan and whine
and ululate and sing and bellow
and talk and speak poetry
to their wretched hearts' content
from generation unto generation.
Pomme is French slang for oneself or favoured fellow
human being, a pal, or dog.
For me, silence is solid, never hollow,
my life-support, my exaltation.
The silent dark is mother-end of all.
More on apples from another American woman:
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In this Poem,
We Will Not Glorify Sunrise
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nor admire
the apples that blossom
during a February heat wave only to
wilt and die in a mid-May freeze. Doom,
such a fickle bitch. She’s snow spilling into
Reno where planeloads of people sick
of winter have gone to gamble in tank tops
and shorts. Here it’s seventy-three degrees,
warm enough to sunbathe on a Lake Ontario
beach. Overhead a jet pirouettes toward
the airport fluttering white scarves of vapor:
Contrails,
kissing cousin to entrails.
Mine
are glistening and pink as a sunrise except
for one rotten spot that’s
something to
watch
in the future.
How it always starts for the apple.
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Copyright ©
2025 by Sarah Freligh.
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