BY ISABELLA KOBAN
Will You Share an Apple with Me?
Yesterday I found an apple,
tossed aside from the rest of its family,
bruised and lonely, begging to be
snatched up in my little palm.
A screech pierced the stale air
as I scooped my apple into its new warm home and flew it to safety.
Soft feet flitting on dank cobblestones,
I brought my apple to you.
Shivering in the darkness,
stomach growling, toes blue,
I see the dampness on your tomato cheeks,
hiding behind your moth-bitten sleeve.
My eyes are sore too.
You remind me of my apple,
a little bruised and dirty, and alone.
But no one knows that inside,
you hold the sweetness of an orchard.
This piece was written by a participant on our Creative Writing Programme. It was inspired by the above piece, click the image to view it in the NMNI online collection. Read other works from the programme here: Virtually (Re)writing history: A series from our online creative writing programme