Apple Poems

 

1

 

I sat all morning under 

the dogwoods,

waited for leaves to fall

as if they were apples

baking in brown sugar.

 

 

2

 

I reach for apples

as if they are sunburst guitars,

even though yellow jackets 

walk the strings, and leaves 

rattle like rusting 

saxophones.

 

 

3

 

When you smile, I see

baskets of apples,

when you laugh,

they come 

    falling 

        into my press.

 

The cider oozes at sunrise

while I drunkenly yodel to yellow

poplars among the pines.

 

 

    --John Thomas York