Some say it’s an apple, some say an orange
or fig—hanging at arm’s length
from one branch of a tree of life,
the product of action, not action itself,
which would be the cyclamen bloom,
thin stem twisted and bowed in prayer,
petals of deep velvet folded back
exposing anthers and stigma,
which remain hidden under leaves, each a still
photo of an exotic fan dance, appearing
to reveal what it conceals: a red spot of sorrow
the heart carries years after consummation.
Marc Jampole has had one novel published, The Brothers Silver (Owl Canyon Press, 2021), and two books of poetry, Music from Words (Bellday Books, 2007) and Cubist States of Mind/Not the Cruelest Month (Poet’s Haven Press, 2017). His poems and short stories have appeared in many journals and anthologies. A former television news reporter and public relations executive, Marc currently writes poetry and fiction full time.