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.)