Sunday, January 16, 2011

apple trees

we saw your car in the parking lot,
walked into the manor,
found you handing out songbooks

i asked you to check my hair
because you know how it should look.
you said i was beautiful

you were there to sit and sing and listen.
without looking, i knew your face:
placid, taking it all in

just like every morning,
in a comfy chair
with your Bible

tossing your heart to the sky,
catching the good grain
and letting the chaff float away

i've thrown my heart to your floor
so many times -- so many tirades,
sermons i needed to preach at someone

when i inhale, look up into blue eyes,
i see that you've known all along.
however did you keep it quiet?

i wish i were more like you --
beyond the narrow hips, the shape of brow --
down to the heart.

i'm like a tree -- a great, weeping willow,
groaning and swaying and wailing,
"the wind! oh, the wind! everybody fly!!"

you're apples with peanut butter:
nothing fancy. just sweet, sustaining, and real.
my favourite.


(dedicated wholly to my mom.
and in part, to peter, for whom i wrote "face", which is his favourite word.)

6 comments:

  1. smiles. sounds like a great friend you go there...and i think we are all in this together and are there to help each other along the path...

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  2. i love this ode to your mom. i love the knowing and the after-knowing and the want to be like her, not in form but in spirit.

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  3. Oh my gosh. I love the end. I love it. I am a willow! You are an apple tree!
    You slay me.

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