The Lesson

When you were nine
we cleaved an apple 
clean at its equator, 
bore to light its 
waxy pentagram of seeds;
for we were wholesome 
as a family could be,
just you and me.

We sowed one and
somehow it grew as
I learned how to tend it;
grafting those slim limbs 
with my blunt blade -
this act of violence,  
to coax a flush
of first apples.

A monster crop 
seasoned as heatwaves 
and dog days abated. I used to ask after them but you always said with a trace of cyanide disdain or regret, they are not ripe
yet they will be sweet.
Apple with a ragged heart shaped bite in it, revealing red flesh

2 thoughts on “The Lesson

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