In my grandmother’s garden
When I was a child
Grew a singular fruit tree
My aunt called it the cherry-plum tree
She always pointed it out to me
Remembering it from her childhood
And as autumn came into its own
She eagerly picked its small yield and
We savoured its sweet flesh –
Small plump cherries with
A combined taste of cherry and plum,
An old Victorian hybrid
Not grown any more.
I do not know its Latin name.
I have never seen a fruit tree like it
Since.
She thought it was special
So did I.
We sat at the rickety old wooden table
Underneath its overhanging branches
In a secluded part of the garden
Hidden from the rest of the world
With our hoard of
Small orangey-red fruit, not many.
Westward facing, getting the late
Afternoon and evening sun.
Dappled autumn shade
Ripe from the summer sun.
If ever there was a memory of sweet childhood
This was it.
It could have been one of the original
Fruit trees in the Garden of Eden.
C. Tim Taylor 2008