Anatomy of the Lemon: Endocarp

Terry Trowbridge

The lemon has been peeled.

The sections are still intact in their ovoid seed ovary shape.

They are held together, and stuck together, by endocarp.

 

Translucent but not entirely transparent skin.

Beneath the white thickness of mesocarp,

the endocarp appears powdered with snow, or flour.

Between the sections, the endocarp is clear insect wings,

shaped like waning moon, pressed over little vesicles of juice.

Endocarp rarely touches seeds.

 

Some unsolved mysteries of the lemon’s endocarp:

 

Why wasn’t this the first paper?

Writing could have been such small notation,

perfect for passing secrets between students,

do you like me yes no maybe and then eat before it is confiscated

the lemon’s sourness endowing bad news,

the lemon’s cleanliness accenting good news.

 

Why didn’t the lemon evolve insect wings?

A path not-taken by the maple keys that helicopter groundward.

Each lemon section could have flown,

powered by acidic arteries inside the yellow battery berry.

 

Why didn’t lemons develop more sweetness?

Powdered sugars could have accumulated between endocarp and mesocarp.

A baker’s dream fruit.

 

Why does the waning moon only turn yellow with certain clouds?

As though the rain is made of lemon juice.

But the surface of the moon is white like the endocarp’s titanium white.

 

One spiritual mystery of the lemon endocarp:

 

The membrane that covers each section as its own separate slice

is also surface that sticks the sections together, united as one fruit.

So perfect an example of community communion.

No need for metaphors, nor practice, nor theology, nor chapels.

The lemon endocarp clasps in prayer, without needing to pray.