Ode to an apple



You, apple,
are the object
of my praise.
I want to fill
my mouth
with your name.
I want to eat you whole.
You are always
fresh, like nothing
and nobody.
You have always
just fallen
from Paradise:
dawn’s
rosy cheek
full
and perfect!
Compared
to you
the fruits of the earth
are
so awkward:
bunchy grapes,
muted
mangos,
bony
plums, and submerged
figs.
You are pure balm,
fragrant bread,
the cheese
of all that flowers.
When we bite into
your round innocence
we too regress
for a moment
to the state
of the newborn:
there’s still some apple in us all.
I want
yotal abundance,
your family
multiplied.
I want
a city,
a republic,
a Mississippi River
of apples,
and I want to see
gathered on its banks
the world’s
entire
population
united and reunited
in the simplest act we know:
I want us to bite into an apple.

(PABLO NERUDA, 1956)