The Night the Fruit Fought

Written by: Ryan Arciero

In a garden, one warm midsummer’s eve,
As the greens readied for night’s cool reprieve,
And the fireflies’ light suffused the air
All was calm and bright on that evening fair.

But then a small voice, and the silence broke —
The quiet cleared as an Apple bespoke.
“For quite some time, a question I’ve in mind
That’s been eating at me to ask in kind.”

The Peaches rustled, the Plums gave a shake,
And Pears bustled as each fruit yawned awake.
“What?” Orange bristled, “For the time is past
When we should be asleep; so make this fast.”

“Very well,” the Apple crisply replied,
“While we all claim to be the best supplied
Which of us fruit did Eve pluck from the tree?
I, of course, think it was most likely me.”

“Please,” scoffed Banana, “Not quite, dear fellow,”
Whose skin had gone from ripe green to yellow.
“I can say most surely (as is my right),
‘Twas a banana tempted Eve to bite.”

“You?” shrieked the Melon. “Truly you must jest
It was I the serpent used — no contest!”
“Never! The fruit to make woman merry
Would best be us, see, a wise Blueberry!”

Then the Mango argued it was the one
To make Eve sin in Eden under the sun.
Papaya pushed it, to prove Mango wrong
That to his rind the title should belong.

A few moments later, a brawl broke out
As the Cherries gave the Berries a clout;
The little Figs had a serious fit —
And even punched in Pomegranate’s pit.

The Passion Fruit used all of their power
To make Apricot cry and Grape turn sour,

Coconut was kicked right there in the gut;
Prune became prune juice after a bad cut.

The battle went on for most of the night
And might have lasted ‘til dawn’s early light
Had not the Gardener entered their presence
Walking, lamb-like, through the silver-pearl fence.

“Here, dear fruit,” said the Gardener gently
Staring at each of their wounds intently.
“Why are you all up at this dark hour
‘Stead of resting beneath a star shower?”

“We want to know which fruit is greater than
the others and led to the fall of man.”
The Gardener frowned and his mouth grew stern,
As the lines of his face etched in concern.

“That sad deed is not one to fight about,
Nor any cause to strike or scream or shout.
It is something for which there is no fame.”
The fruit glanced away, their heads hung in shame.

“Just as mankind was punished for its act,
So too might be why you stay not intact.
Perhaps that explains your peels’ aged brown spots,
As other fruit laugh and connect the dots.

You, whose cores think they are the better half
What truth lies beneath your thin, thoughtless chaff?
If you were the fruit that Eve held aloft,
Maybe that is why you rot and grow soft?”

And as the fruit sniffed as things defiled,
The Gardener knelt down and he smiled.
“Come now, it is over; just look above,
Those stars shine for you; they shine with my love.

Banana, I made the shape of my thumb
Packed full of fiber and potassium
Apple, I formed you with colorful dye
You’ll always be the apple of my eye.

Cantaloupe, you were crafted with close care,
And Strawberry with seeds for all to share.
Kiwi, I gave you a taste very keen,
Vitamin C I left with sweet Tangerine.”The Gardener drew his dear fruit to him,

“I created all in purpose, not whim,
So sleep now, knowing from sprout to nurture,
Great pasts aren’t needed for a great future.”

The fruit flushed happily, waving goodbye,
Departing for tree boughs, bruised stems held high,
And so peace once more reigned in the garden
As Son thanked Father — for gift of pardon.

This (the story goes) is the reason why
Neither Apple nor Orange tries to vie
For the title that led to Eve’s pursuit
And is forever known just as, “The Fruit.”

Remember this tale as your food for thought:
Forget not that night — the night the fruit fought.