The sunlight-dappled, shiny red apples bobbed enticingly on the lush, emerald-green branches, not understanding
Instead of dust and smoke, we breathed in that singular tart, fleshy fragrance only apples can produce
The mid-September warm spell burned my shoulders and dried the tears that kept falling and falling, like the people who'd lept from towers
"Mo-om, why do we have to be here?" moaned my daughter, barely heard over the angry buzz of bees we had displaced with our presence
"Because in September we pick apples, no matter what," I announced, biting into the crisp, taut skin of a juicy, sticky sweet Cortland apple.
About the Creator
Tina D'Angelo
I am a 70-year-old grandmother, who began my writing career in 2022. Since then I have published 6 books, all available on Barnes and Noble or Amazon.
BARE HUNTER, SAVE ONE BULLET, G-IS FOR STRING, AND G-IS FOR STRING: OH, CANADA
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Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
Bad memories are always hard. I have a hard time going through the motions in March, the month my son was murdered. Beautiful piece of work.
Beautifully written!
What a poetically evocative poem! The vivid imagery of the apple-picking experience, intertwined with deeper reflections, forms a poignant moment.
That was a beautiful experience. Loved your poem!
Shorty - I buzzingly admit you've always been the 'Apple in my Eye'...! j.bud.in.l.a.
Beautiful. What a way to commemorate such a day of infamy.
Perfect challenge entry and tribute to 9/11/01.