The One-Year-Old Lemon Tree

By W. S. Di Piero b. 1945

Its small celestial reach stops

where the counterweight, the first

tough green fruit, pulls earthward

and returns the brazen, almost rank perfume

of blossoms now six months gone.

The slurred odor of its leaves

calls back that long evening’s end:

we shivered in the cool light

a northerly sun bent against the world

into the hands of friends

who helped clear the outdoor supper’s

sharp debris—forks, tin plates,

balled napkins and bone nests.

The lemon blossoms throbbed. The air

slowed with so much young life,

the fragrance quickened in our veins

the common, too surprising wish

to hold, just then, another,

whoever stood nearest, whatever charm

would bind us to the lowering light.

Then someone said, “Let’s eat the tree”—

Tear apart the bole, raid the green heart,

devour remembrance with one moment’s

hunger and eat the nature of things.

Scraped plates, laughter, glasses refilled . . .

Our sweet anger urged and gathered us

around the young tree’s tub, made us

tamp the wet soil and drink fast

the clear smell of unseen yellow fruit

in time we ourselves might never know.

Source: The Dog Star (University of Massachusetts Press, 1990)

Biography

W.S. Di Piero was born in 1945 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and earned degrees from St. Joseph’s College and San Francisco State College. A poet, essayist, art critic, and translator, Di Piero has taught at institutions such as Northwestern University, Louisiana State University, and Stanford, where he is professor emeritus of English and on faculty in the prestigious Stegner Poetry Workshop. Elected to the American Academy of . . .

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