I am the ancient symbol of Aphrodite, who nibbled me to perfume her kiss and duly seal her married bliss. I am sexily pear-shaped and aromatic; in spring my robes of pink flowers unfold, while autumn’s scented orbs are gold. I am a pome, a love song or a poem, the original temptation in the garden of Eden, not an earthy apple, but a quince from heaven. I am a quintessential beauty, beneath which lovers once spent hours; these days, they find my flesh hard and sour. But wait! I am amenable to being made Into jelly, jam and marmalade. Kim M. Russell, 20th April 2022
Two-thirds of the way through NaPoWriMo 2022 and, on day 20, we are writing poems that anthropomorphize a kind of food: a favourite food, or maybe one we feel conflicted about. There is a quince tree in our garden; some years she bears blossom and fruit, others she does not and appears to have a mind of her own. This year, there was an abundance of blossom, and she is currently covered in beautiful green leaves. Let’s hope for a bumper crop! The photograph is from the first year of the pandemic, when most of the fruit landed on the other side of the fence in our neighbours’ garden – yes, she is a fickle tree!