Aicuna

Aicuna

Whiteness in their thoughts
They touched it on fruits; vegetables devoid of colour.
A man came once to Aicuna with cherries,
He described them as blood red.
The impossibility of fruit with colour threatened the existence of these people.

One touched, felt the smoothness,
Saw the deep bloody juice through a cut in the fruit.
Juices mixed with smooth skin,
The impossibly white hand lifted the fruit, tasted the deep cut.
Whiteness mixed with tangy bitter sweet redness,
Juices squeezed through the radiant white teeth staining the gums.
The taste was colour, words never used burst
Popped with each taste of the cherries sweet bloody end.

It was a threat to the pristine perfection of life
The clarity in colourless existence.
He was gone the cherry man, the fruit seller,
In his place a cherry tree grew perfect white cherries nourished by metallic blood.
It's true in Aicuna the mystery gene prevailed centuries of perfect clear whiteness.