Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Again, Orchard


























A fascination with apples
too small to be of use:
undeveloped, pocked, cankered.
Wintered under a punishment of snow,
missed in the raking of each row.
Ripe for my obsession
with the dead, the dying, the decayed.
Posted by at

3 comments:

  1. ElizabethApril 23, 2013 at 9:42 PM

    Riveting -- all of it.

    I am reminded of those weird little shrunken apple dolls -- have you ever seen them?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. T. April 24, 2013 at 8:29 AM

      Elizabeth, yes, I do remember those odd things. I thought of them while photographing these stunted apples!

      Delete
  2. TaradharmaApril 24, 2013 at 5:14 PM

    beautiful poem.

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)