Jennifer A.
Hudson
Golden
Malice
An
apple tree stands alone
atop a stark bayside
hill.
Bowed and twisted
she dangles
her forsaken golden
yield
hoping to entice an
admirer
still.
But who
desires bitter fruit
with rotten tang these
days?
In her
prime, the apple tree had borne
an abundance of golden
delicious—
bore them right on her top
boughs,
fruit of Hesperides.
But the reaper cursed her
yield
and vowed never to
return,
for how dare she taunt
him
with crop he could not
reach?
But had the tree’s harvester not
felt
such malice toward her
‘mala,’
she would have tossed care to the
winds
and let her golden
delicious
yield like tender
raindrops.
Now she fancies a
landslide
brought on by September
gales.
The
Lament of Hephaistos while in Oceanic
Delirium
I
remember her eyes as
shimmering pools
where dolphins
splashed
and eucalypts tickled
soft tan grains
with supple
innocence.
I wonder if
bottlenoses
still boogie inside her
bay,
or if gum trees
still droop over her
sands—
or have all her suitors been
netted
and her stringy bark
shed?
If only her pools could
erupt,
then I’d see why my Lady
vanished
and why I’ve been forced into
exile
again.
Jennifer A. Hudson
is a poet, essayist, fiction writer and budding visual artist
living organically in Fairfield County, CT. Her work has
appeared in The Helix, The Broken Plate,
Eleutheria: The Scottish Poetry Review, Nefarious
Ballerina, Essence, and Sage Woman. When
not writing, she enjoys painting, drawing, photography,
traveling, nature's beauty, and joining in on open drum
circles.
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