A hint of losses, of the breaking
away. What belongs here? Winesap and
Jonathan. Cortland and Orange Pippin.
Baldwin. What else? Gravenstein.
My grandfather strung them up.
In remembrance of Eve. Of the Fall.
Golden Russet. Hung them high on succah
walls each autumn where the ritual meals
took place. Sweet. Heady by week's end.
Did he see ahead? See the scattering
of seeds? Of faith? A narrowing
of consciousness? Down to what? Soft
Macintosh or the deceiving Red
Delicious? Northern Spy. Lady Apple.
Her eyes are open wide. She cannot sleep
is naked, filled with guilt. She can see
as far as the four corners of the world.