P—W V° 04:08
In orchards that seem
to go on forever
by Leslie Kay Lim
Apples. Blueberries. Kumquats.
Mangoes. Figs. Watermelons.
Cherries. Persimmons. Plums.
The girl grows up watching people with fruit. Finding it. Eating it.
And oh, the face they make when they bite into their favorite…
“It calls to them,” explains the shopkeeper.
“That face is the answer.”
She inspects each box. Colorful and ripe under her scrutiny.
But none seem to whisper in particular…
One slow day, she’s flipping through a dusty catalog when she sees it.
A fruit she’s never seen before. Tilted as if in question. It’s calling to her.
“Ah,” he says, head shaking.
“That isn’t something we carry.”
The girl begins to search for it. In books. In shops.
In orchards that seem to go on forever.
In towns where the trees look so much unlike what she’s used to.
She searches and searches, listening and hoping.
But she never finds it.
Maybe she doesn’t deserve to.
Maybe she isn’t good enough.
She stops, finally. I don’t want it, she thinks.
Even though, deep down, she does.
But say something enough times, and it starts to feel true.
Eventually she forgets she was looking in the first place.
Years pass. The girl is an old woman now.
Her life is full, busy helping others find their fruit.
Apples. Blueberries. Kumquats.
Mangoes. Figs. Watermelons.
Cherries. Persimmons. Plums.
One day, she passes a vendor she’s never seen before.
She almost walks by his table of oddities entirely.
“Care for a taste?” he offers.
“This just came in.”
Wait, could it be?
In her bite, she tastes years of searching.
The lack and the sadness.
The want, buried earthen-deep till it near-disappeared.
She doesn’t know why she’s crying.
She doesn’t, but she does.
It’s a taste of a once forgotten dream.
The sweetness of her younger self.
“Do you know what it is?” he asks, taken aback. She nods.
The face they make when they bite into their favorite..
That wonder is on her face now.
Apples. Blueberries. Kumquats.
Mangoes. Figs. Watermelons.
Cherries. Persimmons. Plums.
And now, after all this time...
A pear.
Mangoes. Figs. Watermelons.
Cherries. Persimmons. Plums.
The girl grows up watching people with fruit. Finding it. Eating it.
And oh, the face they make when they bite into their favorite…
“It calls to them,” explains the shopkeeper.
“That face is the answer.”
She inspects each box. Colorful and ripe under her scrutiny.
But none seem to whisper in particular…
One slow day, she’s flipping through a dusty catalog when she sees it.
A fruit she’s never seen before. Tilted as if in question. It’s calling to her.
“Ah,” he says, head shaking.
“That isn’t something we carry.”
The girl begins to search for it. In books. In shops.
In orchards that seem to go on forever.
In towns where the trees look so much unlike what she’s used to.
She searches and searches, listening and hoping.
But she never finds it.
Maybe she doesn’t deserve to.
Maybe she isn’t good enough.
She stops, finally. I don’t want it, she thinks.
Even though, deep down, she does.
But say something enough times, and it starts to feel true.
Eventually she forgets she was looking in the first place.
Years pass. The girl is an old woman now.
Her life is full, busy helping others find their fruit.
Apples. Blueberries. Kumquats.
Mangoes. Figs. Watermelons.
Cherries. Persimmons. Plums.
One day, she passes a vendor she’s never seen before.
She almost walks by his table of oddities entirely.
“Care for a taste?” he offers.
“This just came in.”
Wait, could it be?
In her bite, she tastes years of searching.
The lack and the sadness.
The want, buried earthen-deep till it near-disappeared.
She doesn’t know why she’s crying.
She doesn’t, but she does.
It’s a taste of a once forgotten dream.
The sweetness of her younger self.
“Do you know what it is?” he asks, taken aback. She nods.
The face they make when they bite into their favorite..
That wonder is on her face now.
Apples. Blueberries. Kumquats.
Mangoes. Figs. Watermelons.
Cherries. Persimmons. Plums.
And now, after all this time...
A pear.
2024 © L.Lim