An Apple Saved My Life.
These notes are nearing now the
Edge, by crook and minute
By slow percentage. I don’t ask you questions.
At some hour of lone morning when the
World is still dark I wonder where you are.
You are ok, you’ll make it, as a leaf on water
Maybe not happy or sad or lost or found
But floating and wandering round on currents
And sounds that push you. Push you further
Down the street where you will wait for me
Although I don’t know what it is for which you wait.
Because, You thought I was a different girl last night.
So maybe things are not right, and cannot be.
There are walls and castles, moats to your grief
And I have no tools to scale them. Petals
Of the flower you picked are on the table.
They are dried into the lips of love, and I will let
Them rest there, unbothered, as I must let you have
Your pain, that drugs do not dull. In bed
We, as comets arch the sky, with tails of talk
And moaning. Out of it, and in the soup of shifting
Society you frame your phrases bereft of the pillow's
Soft edge. I can only put my forehead to yours and wonder:
Because there is something burning there, but what it is…
Oh Mama, If only.
That apple saved your life, you said. Funny.
These sins of his that man puts on like make up every morning
Save you for the day ahead, a mask perhaps, of sugar.
Ask of me and I shall give you all the breaks that breach
Between my sanity and in, and every apple in the fridge.
But you want not to be the page of some bound book
And I don’t blame you.