V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





There, upon the bleak fruit tree, are the snow apples, the two remaining proofs of what this tree had borne last autumn.  What do I see beyond the snow-capped, desiccated, now burnt-orange apples?  The birds pirouetting above, other winter animals roaming below this tree, learn and live the codes of nature, the ones I've ignored or forgotten.  The dead fruit will drop one day, and still I shall be perplexed about why two apples remain on this tree in February, believing as always I am one with Nature and understand all of its manifestations.  We fool ourselves into thinking this, sensing, perhaps falsely, that the ichor of the gods is in us, too, transforming our bodies into an immortal self.  The dark and silent trees do not have our questions, and live with ease.  I think again, and I say to myself — I must relearn the lessons of nature.

© by Margaret Perry


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