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OK William Carlos Williams, you had your plum fun in the sun (and the icebox), now my turn.

apologies to WCW • a pluot poem

the other day I picked a pluot... from a tiny lil' tree.... not much of a farmer am I.... but I grew it, 'twas really me...

matter of fact... plucked it just the other day... didn't mean too, really... but the fruit just fell away...

see…i merely intended... to give it an eency squeeze... and try to determine whether... it had come ripe time to seize...

a plump organic blessing... which honestly was first purported... to be too much for the tiny lil' tree... and was therefore nearly aborted...

but i swore off such talk... that it would drain the lil' baby... hoping it would still grow... and that some distant maybe...

harvest would be much more... than a single fat stone fruit... its branches would spread wide... and the soil'd embrace the roots...

but here's the lil' thing... about that not-so-lil' pluot... it represents a season's work... and so while it's only one I've got...

it's got everything from the sun... the dirt, the bees and the tree... given thoroughly completely and organically... summoning the flavor of 50 fruits for only one of me...

it's soaked in months of adoration... and big-heart water from the hose... nestled in a deep well of compost... that took me three years to stir and sow...

it holds a wealth of history... friends who're hurting and friends trying peace... we've stood and considered the tiny tree... as it finds its own tenuous life lease...

i'm kinda scared to eat the fruit... this is the only one there'll be... for this entire first season... since i planted the tiny lil' tree...

but i know my fear just won't survive... and neither will this fruit... because you are only what you eat... and the soil beneath your feet...