Oct 182014
I stood unlost where the orchard breeze
Pushed too-long limbs unevenly.
My desire had shaped this stand of trees,
Laid apples out in careful, measured Eden;
Cross-referenced to find the best of breed;
Spread by hand the enchanted seed.

I kick tussocky humps, ungainly trip
Over years of ungathered gold retuned to grass.
A mom, sick, bed-ridden, had stopped the snip-
Pers that trimmed, the tan hands that passed
And paused beside each apple like a beloved face,
Ready to roll the unblemished to their place

Beheaded in the picker's tipping basket.

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