The Apple Tree

There's still a house there, and before the house
There was that apple tree
And it's dusty and full and the fruit's growing old
But its still, probably, sweet

And that apple tree blooms and then sets it fruit
And we drive through, eyes on the street
And the families keep changing but not just there
But we think we still see their sheets

I don't know where that first garden grew
Not right down my street
But abandoned gardens and houses left behind
Are all I know of Eden

I'm older now and this is the yard
But where is the green?
All I've got left are the souvenirs, relics
Of the garden we've seen.

The apple tree brings the fruit to the scheme
And the snakes are brought by the weeds
I'll bring the guileless, wisdomless teeth
And rumors can flame through the screens

Hope y'all are having a good week! We had a surprise...hurricane? Tropical storm? last week, which really doesn't seem like it should be a thing but is, apparently. We were fortunate to just receive the rain and none of the flooding on my street while the it felt like the city was drowning once again. Which, I suppose, when we were able to get out and run around again, gave me fresh eyes, checking to see where water lingered and what made it through, checking the creek obsessively and worrying about our local library, and noticing an apple tree full of fruit in an abandoned (or possibly just temporarily deserted) yard. And then the image above. And there's a story there more than a poem...there's a power who's just pulled a relic from a flood and the land is drying all around but the music isn't playing and the birds aren't flying and there's just the sun and the smell of wet sinking down around the foundations and the way you think you remember something but it just doesn't break through the present haze. Or maybe that's just me.

-- Chrissa