By Mira
Date: 9 October 2000
Apples
I packed apples, a sharp brick of cheese
and some warm cider mulled with stick cinnamon and cloves---
and stopped dead in my tracks.
Apples? What was I offering here?
Mother Eve did in apples as a casual offering.
I stared at them a moment.
Perfect. Red. Flawless. The kind of fruit an artist
would rather paint than eat.
Did I want to tempt you, really?
Did you want to be tempted?
What would you read into my casual offering---
and what did I want you to read?
And a moment later, I laughed myself silly.
Right. Here I was offering something to nibble,
and everything was significant?
An apple is just a damned apple.
And if you want to nibble anything else---
well, I'm open to suggestion.
Forget the cologne.
I will settle for a dab of vanilla behind each ear.
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