Inside the Apple

Recently, I’ve been re-reading (for about the hundredth time) a collection of poetry by the late Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai. Amichai was assigned reading during my first creative writing class ever (in college), and I can remember so clearly reading one particular poem of his, “Inside the Apple,” for the first time. It was printed all crooked on that extra-thin 8X10 you always got at the school copy place. To me, it’s a perfect poem. You know how sometimes things are just precisely in the key of you? Sometimes I wish I could read it with someone else’s brain; I love it so much, I wish I could meet it again. But anyway, here it is:


Inside the Apple

You visit me inside the apple.
Together we can hear the knife
paring around and around us, carefully,
so the peel won’t tear.

You speak to me. I trust your voice
because it has lumps of hard pain in it
the way real honey
has lumps of wax from the honeycomb.

I touch your lips with my fingers:
that too is a prophetic gesture.
And your lips are red, the way a burnt field
is black.
It’s all true.

You visit me inside the apple
and you’ll stay with me inside the apple
until the knife finishes its work.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s