Not Far From the Tree


The apples don’t fall far
from the tree
No, they fall to the deck
outside my kitchen
one or three or four
at a time
clunking and thudding
Sometimes it sounds
like a child is pelting
my house
with dozens
of miniature baseballs

I look up
at the low-hung branches
still full
not quite August
and wonder
about the moment
when weight and gravity
overcome attachment
when the branch
lets go
and the apple falls
destined for my broom

And I begin my day
clearing the deck
of fallen apples
sweep them
to the ground
and get ready
for work
knowing that evening
will be here later
to greet me
with a new round
of tart offerings

One thought on “Not Far From the Tree


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