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The Pear Tree -




we drove through my hometown late one afternoon,
a mid-July breeze kisses my cheeks and
whispers over my shoulders
through the open window
(I always have the windows open)
 and the golden light of a yawning sun
bounces off the sweaty hoods of a small town summer rush hour.
and as we idled there,
held by the precious sonance of contentment
my love told me a story from his childhood:

“when I was a boy back in the UK I had a paper route.
along my route, on one of the corners,
there was a pear tree
ripe with perfectly firm green fruit
rouging, softening, by the day.
I knew,
if I kept myself disciplined,
this one tree held just enough fruit for me
to have one pear
each time I did my route
for the season.
I was so proud,
it was my very own little secret slice
of heaven.

“on the way home from school one day
I took my friends to show them my pear tree.
I wanted them to witness the magic of
the tree
I had spoken so highly of,
to share with them a bit of its wonder.
we approached the tree,
the boys and I,
and for a moment
I felt such pride introducing them.
they looked at her for a moment,
- a split second of peace -
and then just as quickly
they charged the tree,
and stripped every last bit of fruit from her branches
before my eyes.
they laughed, and then they left.
that was that.

 “the moral of the story,”
he said,
“is to never let it be known when you love something,
for the moment you let it be known, it will be taken from you.”

I looked over at him
more naked beside me than I had ever seen;

"I think it's about finding the ones who won't strip your pear tree."

                                            - how we come to fear love


Written by Taylor Neal

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