She hears too many voices
stands in stupor
hand reaching up
and in that pose
is frozen

chosen not to trust
her inner voice
the only one that counts

and so she stands a while-
hand up and clinging
to the tree
eyes fixed upon
the apple-
when

a sudden breeze
brushes her face and makes her
blink
enough to interrupt the flow of
fear and guilt and shame
enough to plant into her ear
the humming sound
of color
enough to make her spirit sink
into her hand and
make
her
grab
the fruit

Pollute her not
it hums
and leave her

retrieve your rightful place
my love
and munch away
your apple.