The Last Fruit Clings On
written by: Alan Hardy
The last piece of fruit lingers on the tree.
I meet her again after many years,
telling the same tales, clinging to hopes
swirling like clouds in her head.
With a wink she shares details on a lover
she always peoples her history with,
faithful in the re-telling.
The last piece of fruit is not ready to drop.
Her face is wrinkly soft,
a leftover from years before
resignation tugged at her edges,
in the eyes, a pleasantness,
looking for a returning glance to the one
she gives so freely, sweetly.
Youth’s shreds cling to her like a set of clothes,
armour that can’t be dented,
voice that won’t be silenced.
She won’t find a fairy-tale prince, or two, I know,
turn the tables on a life soured and souring,
still, in the meantime,
in the pause before the last lingering piece of fruit
finally falls,
and makes the sound that forces you to look
and acknowledge the decaying circle of fruit
around the bare tree on the ground,
in the here and now,
her white skin, radiant eyes,
words she uses like a garment
keep her on view,
a bright speck on the horizon
that demands to be spotted.
For the moment, the last drop of fruit clings on,
refuses to drop.
NOTE:
Based on the Prompt – The Last Fruit
- Spotlight On Writers – Alan Hardy - September 12, 2026
- The Last Fruit Clings On - August 23, 2026
- What I Am What I Was - May 20, 2026
