APPLE FALLS FROM TREE
I.
Apple falls from Tree.
Apple bruises.
Several passersby bypass Apple in favor of other fruit. Apple is bruised & scuffed with dirt, overly available,
lying there in plain sight. The passersby prefer to reach for fruit still gripping the branch.
Apple rots a little.
A horse kicks Apple while feeding on other fallen—though less bruised—fruit, & Apple rolls down the hill,
hammering against every exposed rock.
Barely recognizable, blushing rhododendrons, Apple rises from the ground & huffs, Enough!
Apple shines, luminous bruise, climbs the library stairway, flesh gilded by leaves russet & crinkling.
II.
On the first day of winter, Friend to Apple: You look like someone lobbed you in the face. Emotionally, you know?
Apple: the wayward branches, trunk warped by need.
Friend: You must not know how to be a tree. Your tree wasn’t really a tree—how to be a tree without a tree to turn to?
Inside Apple shiver seeds. The possibility of trees among other possibilities: Apple goes home, aloof & stinking
of the orchard, rot & clover, the sweet crunch of autumn.
This poem first appeared on LEVELER; click through for their insightful analysis of the poem. Cover photograph by Darla Mottram.