Ode to the Banana

Forgive me.

Seventy-five years
and only this morning
did I fully appreciate
the banana.

There you were all along,

never asking
for applause.

No peeling knife.
No washing.
No recipe.
No complicated instructions
written in six languages.

Just. . .

Here!

You arrive
already wrapped,
your own biodegradable packaging
designed by a genius
with a mischievous sense of humor.

Even toddlers
can understand you.

You travel well.

You forgive neglect.

You patiently wait
on the kitchen counter,
slowly exchanging green certainty
for yellow optimism,
then freckled wisdom.

You are breakfast.

Lunch.

Dessert.

Emergency snack.

Peace treaty
between blood sugar
and bad decisions.

Athletes worship you.

Monkeys made you famous.

Grandmothers have always known.

Somehow
you are both humble
and indispensable.

The banana
does not seek attention.

It bends.

Like a Zen master.

Like someone
who has learned
that ripeness
is more important
than standing straight.

Inside,
there is no armor.

No pit.

No thorns.

Only sweetness
waiting for permission.

What other fruit
can make children laugh,
artists paint,
nutritionists nod,
and comedians blush?

You have inspired
more jokes
than perhaps any fruit
deserves.

And still!!!!!!

you never seem offended.

You simply continue
feeding the world.

I suspect
enlightenment
may be more banana-like
than Buddha-like.

Quiet.

Available.

Unpretentious.

Good with peanut butter.

Good with oatmeal.

Good all by yourself.

Today,
I bow
to your magnificent ordinariness.

To your potassium.

To your generosity.

To your perfect curve.

To the miraculous fact
that somewhere
a tree
has been growing
this little yellow smile
simply because
the world
needed one.

Long live
the banana

proof
that the universe
occasionally says,

“Enough seriousness.

Here.

Eat this.”

Love. Jayne