The Note

By Glen Silva

Written in a precise hand, unknown, like a vendor of fruit
in a marketplace in a small town in a time
of great upheaval. The apple of my thoughts,
skin shining, plucked by her
who is my undoing. The streets
echo gray cobble unfettered,
and the common area—the stalls and tents
harboring carrots and turnips,
in their orange, and purple fading into white—
the banners waving to the populace in the amorous breeze,
Brussels sprouts still on their odd stalks, broccoli
cozy next to the man selling marzipan and nutcrackers,
cheddar cheese wax-wrapped and a pyramid of green apples,
but unnamed, here, in this place contrived of longing,
where apples remain nameless until purchase and placed
in net bags. I mull over the incomplete known, wondering
where the stall containing answers moved in this place
of everything, in my mind where the note proves illegible
and apples offer themselves without qualm or worry.

Glen Silva '01 MFA '03 teaches English and composition at Saint Mary's and Diablo Valley College.