Ginger Gold

Suddenly the pear-like flavor of the apple strikes me. Yellow skin, brown freckles, the scar-star of brown bursting from around a long, slender stem--have disappeared down my throat. My teeth and thirsty tongue subtract apple from apple. A sculpture remains, yellows in the swarm of air. I remember--its name.

Tranformation

One minute I'm biting into a red and green globe, piercing the striped skin to slice through crisp white flesh inside. The apple cracks and splits, snaps into chunks that crunch apart between my teeth.

Moments later, the twisted core lies between my fingers, yellow and brown and soft. A seed slips into my palm. Its dry surface shines.

How can these both be apples?