Note: Cross-posted from my blog fragment archive.

Last month, I gave the new Aldous Harding album, Train on the Island, a listen. It immediately earned a place among my favorite releases of the year. A few weeks before that, I’d scribbled a single question into my notebook:

What does it take to eat a fruit?

I thought it might turn into a poem. Then I abandoned it on the page. I don’t really know what prompted the image. I just kept picturing someone eating a juicy fruit. What fruit it was didn’t matter. It could have been a peach, a slice of melon, or a kiwi. As long as it was juicy enough to run down their wrists.

I’ve always been fascinated by this image. It’s erotic and tantalizing. The frame is between the torso and the nose. You see the lips biting into the fruit and the wrists making that curved motion. This is one of those moments where writing resembles painting. I had to mimic the act of biting into a fruit with my own hands and mouth to describe the wrist motion.

The opening track on the album is titled I Ate the Most. When I first heard it, it had already been a while since I’d added anything to the poem. At that point, all I had was:

what does it take to eat a fruit

the effort and the devotion

peeling and slicing

Back then, these lines didn’t symbolize anything specific to me. The fruit wasn’t a metaphor for life. The devotion wasn’t holy. I was simply trying to imagine the act of eating a fruit. This often happens in my writing practice — if you can even call it that. It’s usually not until I’m done with something that I begin to see the possible meanings hiding underneath.

But then the cryptic lyrics of the track brought me back to this poem-to-be:

No regrets, just things that will haunt me

Maybe I’ll bury them

You are through with me on your shoulders

I feel that I feel the most

You are through with me on your shoulders

I can prove that I ate the most ‘cause I did

As Harding’s voice split and overlapped with itself, the poem turned into one of those rare occasions when I could see what I was trying to capture. It wasn’t about writing biblical verses or offering a slice of life; it was about trying to remember a certain feeling.

Lately, I’ve been feeling very tired. More tired than I’ve ever felt in my life. It scared me. I thought this could be it. I felt like I was getting dangerously close to giving up on the chase, on trying.

I had to remind myself of what it means to eat a fruit. The effort and the devotion. Peeling and slicing. Droplets and stains. They would be my proof.

And when the time comes, I’ll say, “I can prove that I ate the most ‘cause I did”

what does it take to eat a fruit?

become part of the mess

remember, what does it take to eat a fruit?

the effort and the devotion

peeling and slicing

pay the small price

ignoring and accepting

anticipation and patience

let it run down your chin

into your chest

droplets and stains

become part of the mess

don’t let the last slice

rot on the counter

just because the first taste

sticky and tangy

the illusion of fullness

it’s just a glimpse, not the feast

become part of the mess

it’ll be your proof

it’ll be your proof

that you lived