By Ranee Mischlewski
Quince oh quince
My downy yellow prince of autumn fruits,
Cydonia oblonga, Persian apple ,
Adam’s apple (Why didn’t he decline?)
Frog prince, waiting for the kiss of knife
And heat and wooden spoon for fame.
Waiting.
On heavy branch with brothers six
Upheld by pickaxe handle.
Hard, relieved to leave your mother.
Free herself, relieved to lose the leaves
And weight of autumn sons. And wait for sleep.
Then peeling, coring, slicing, plunging
Into water, cool with lemon peel and pips
Then warmth. A kitchen’s warmth which softens then betrays
With heat your hard and creamy flesh to pulp. To drip all night
Through muslin net. Bulk of flesh oh mighty quince
Captured from your perfumed self.
And morning brings
More weighing sugar, boiling, watching, boiling, watching close
Skimming, boiling, skimming, boiling, watching
The rise and fall of syrup. Skim and test.
Skim and test on lowly saucer for readiness at last my prince for jars,
Your scalding essence funnelled into jars of garnet clarity.
With royalty and clarity is filled
The glass for winter’s feast. All gone by spring
When mother tree begins to stir with blossom,
Leaf, white sap, and dreams
Of downy kings.
Kommentare