Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s "Woman Who Turned Down a Date with a Cherry Farmer" is a wistful reflection on a missed opportunity, blending sensory detail with a tone of regret and longing. The poem takes what might have been an ordinary decision—turning down a date—and infuses it with the rich textures of summer, making the loss feel both intimate and expansive. Through lush imagery and a rhythmic flow, Nezhukumatathil transforms an anecdote into a meditation on desire, hesitation, and the bittersweet nature of what could have been.

The poem opens with an immediate admission: "Of course I regret it." There is no pretense, no rationalization—only a direct acknowledgment of a mistake. What follows is not just an explanation, but an immersive recollection, steeped in the language of summer: "I mean there I was under umbrellas of fruit / so red they had to be borne of Summer, and no other season." The phrase "umbrellas of fruit" evokes an image of cherries cascading overhead, a scene of abundance and warmth. The emphasis on "Summer" as the only possible origin for such vivid fruit suggests a fleeting moment, a specific time of ripeness that cannot be replicated—a metaphor, perhaps, for the romantic opportunity the speaker let slip away.

The following lines—"Flip-flops and fishhooks. Ice cubes made of lemonade and sprigs / of mint to slip in blue glasses of tea."—create a nostalgic atmosphere, filled with tactile pleasures. The details are chosen with care: "flip-flops" evoke casual ease, "fishhooks" hint at both leisure and the potential for being caught, and "ice cubes made of lemonade and sprigs of mint" offer a sensory indulgence that reinforces the poem’s tone of summer sweetness. These details are not just about setting but about feeling—the warmth of a perfect afternoon, the cool relief of a drink, the small joys that make a season memorable.

The speaker describes herself in a way that suggests both natural beauty and a lack of self-consciousness: "I was dusty, my ponytail / all askew and the tips of my fingers ran, of course, red / from the fruitwounds of cherries I plunked into my bucket." The phrase "fruitwounds" is especially striking—it transforms the act of picking cherries into something visceral, almost bodily, hinting at both pleasure and injury. This image sets up the contrast between the abundance around her and the decision that will soon lead to regret.

The cherry farmer, too, is rendered with intimate, detailed attention. He is not an abstract figure but someone the speaker sees clearly: "He must have seen some small bit of loveliness / in walking his orchard with me." This line suggests that she realizes, too late, that she was desirable in that moment—not in a grand or dramatic way, but in the simple act of sharing space in his orchard. His knowledge of the trees—"which ones bore double seeds—puffing out / the flesh and oh the surprise on your tongue with two tiny stones / (a twin spit), making a small gun of your mouth."—is both a display of expertise and an intimate, playful detail. The "twin spit" and "small gun of your mouth" introduce an element of sensuality, a suggestion that this was not just an invitation for companionship but for pleasure.

The speaker then gives an almost confessional aside: "Did I mention / my favorite color is red?" This rhetorical question adds to the regret—how could she have let go of a chance so perfectly suited to her own desires? The farmer is described further, his jeans "worn and twisty around the tops of his boot," his hands "thick but careful." There is admiration in these details, a recognition of his physicality, his skill, and his tenderness. The image of "cherry dust and fingerprints on his eyeglasses" is particularly evocative—an intimate, almost cinematic detail that suggests the closeness that could have been.

The moment of refusal is understated yet poignant: "I just know when he stuffed his hands in his pockets, said / Okay. Couldn?t hurt to try? and shuffled back to his roadside stand / to arrange his jelly jars and stacks of buckets, I had made / a terrible mistake." The farmer’s response is quiet, unassuming. His "shuffled" movement suggests disappointment but also an acceptance of rejection, a retreat into the simple tasks of his work. The speaker, however, recognizes her error immediately, not after days or years, but "just know[s]" in that instant that she has let something rare and valuable slip away.

The final lines emphasize what she has lost—not just the man, but the life that might have come with him: "I just know my summer would?ve been / full of pies, tartlets, turnovers—so much jubilee." The word "jubilee" carries a double meaning—it refers both to a cherry variety and to a celebration, a season of joy. The repetition of "I just know" reinforces the certainty of her regret, the way the mind can project an entire alternate reality from a single decision. The mention of "pies, tartlets, turnovers" transforms the potential romance into something tangible, something warm and nourishing, making the loss even more deeply felt.

"Woman Who Turned Down a Date with a Cherry Farmer" is a poem about hesitation, about the small choices that, in hindsight, take on the weight of destiny. Nezhukumatathil uses rich, sensory details to create a world that feels lush and immediate, making the speaker’s regret all the more palpable. The poem suggests that sometimes, the sweetness of what could have been lingers longer than what actually was, leaving behind an ache as deep and red as a cherry’s wound.

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