it is not the apple, the orange - a poem

It is not the apple, the orange,

But the fruit orchard, collected,

The tiny bits of things adding up

The lightest pinch turning

Into the largest wallop…

Divided, the things are inspected,

Named and classified in particulars,

But ‘tree-ness’ champions ‘tree’,

That we know a difference

Between ‘Maple’ and ‘Oak’,

It is not randomly so,

That the things arrange themselves

For us into orders, genera,

For there is always a stone

With which to stub your toe,

A wall to resist your exact push,

We blind geniuses as toddlers,

Who recognize ‘mama’ and ‘papa’….