Fruit Plates as Apologies
Eloisa L.
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This year, and in general, as I get older and older, I have struggled to write poetry. Sometimes it seems as though the vividness of imagination leaves my mind, leaving only desolate words and metaphors behind. So, I turned to my own memories, and just started writing. These two poems are moderately based upon bitter memories and sweet dreams of my childhood. Similar in structure, they both depict the memories I have around two fruits, and the familial love and rage I have felt. Most Asian American parents do not say their love in words or hugs or all of the affection I have seen elsewhere. That does not mean they do not care, but rather, it shows how their parents did the same. These cycles of culture always follow us generation to generation, after all. I have grown up, as have many other family members and friends, with fruit plates. Cut-up fruit seems simple enough, at first glance. It’s no Michelin dessert or snack, but it requires the proper care and attention to it all. When words and hugs fail, I always can see the love, the rage, the affection, in these fruit plates. This collection aims for all readers to be able to see these emotions, too.
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Creativity is a roaring river at times, thundering into my ears and mind. Creativity is glistening mist at times, slipping through fingers and impossible to capture. It is necessary for my work, always.
