wildscape. literary journal

Strange Fruit
by Alina Moore

It feels like we are designed
to know the look of these moldy fruits.
It is the only thing that seems to grow
when we holler for something more
on bended knees beneath our willow trees.

They’ve tasted this strange fruit
and savaged it right down to the seed.
They share it in celebration for the wins of having it in their hands,
but spit it out onto the ground right before
they are seen, trying to bury it deep.
It still grows repeatedly, roots sticking out freely
rotting the soil and sickening the land.

And when it is ready to be plucked once more
by those desperately yearning for its taste again,
we are made to stare at this strange fruit,
infested with fleas beneath our willow trees,
and told to be proud we were able to harvest
on this land they call home.

about the author // Alina Moore