Fruit In Memoriam

Chris Ellery

September 7, 2025

When Johnny died, his obit didn’t mention 

he disliked the first black president,

believed the birther lie and the Big Lie,

and three times voted for that felon.

Instead it says he grew up on the family farm,

married his high school sweetheart,

taught math for fifty years, 

coached Little League,

enjoyed the Great Outdoors,

adored his kids and grandkids.

Now his headstone in Lawnhaven 

doesn’t shout to any passer-by 

that almost every day he argued 

ideology and policy with me, at times 

with fury ripe to come to blows.

Although we volleyed enthymemes

like war-divided sons, I love the man,

beyond dispute, that every thought,

both his and mine, be purified

as love is pure.

And this one fact (not fake) I wish to state 

by way of eulogy: every year for years 

near Eastertide

Johnny gave me inchling tomato plants

he grew himself from seeds—

Sweet Cherry, Queen Bee, Black Plum, 

Ananas Noire, Golden Sunburst.

In a corner of my yard, 

they rooted, grew, blossomed, ripened 

under the wings of libertarian birds

through sunny midsummer

to the first glittering frost.

Abundance of fruit, plenty to share.

The best politics, it seems to me, 

is giving and receiving, neighbor to neighbor, 

friend to friend, harvesting blessing.

In memory of Johnny, neighbor and friend, 

I pledge to sow and nurture, 

reap and savor this.

Chris Ellery is the author of six poetry collections, most recently Canticles of the Body and One Like Silence. He is a member of the Texas Institute of Letters and the Fulbright Alumni Association.