Some springs, apples bloom too soon.
The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick
to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,
pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty
and quiet. No reason for the bees to come.
Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples
glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,
the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit.
You could say, I have been foolish. You could say, I have been fooled.
You could say, Some years, there are apples.
Happy National Poetry Month!
It’s that time of year again: 30 days, 30 poems, 30 poets, hand-gathered and delivered fresh to your inbox by yours truly for the duration of the month.
No prior poetry experience is required to enjoy this poem-a-day list! So feel free to spread a little poemlove around this April: Pass along an apple, or other fruits you find here, to friends and loved ones.
Have you been April’s fool? Was it worth it?
Poet Rose McLarney has, as she shares in today’s poem-a-day selection “Gather” from her 2012 collection The Always Broken Plates of Mountains. What other poems or poets do you hear gathered between her lines?
Cheers,
Ellen