Picking Apple Trees
We picked apple trees.
My mind’s eye mesmerized—
the contrast of your snowy hair
against the striking blue sky.
I breathe in the fragrance of fall,
the sweetness of your skin
dancing through the air,
weaving between the leaves,
flowing in and out of me
with each deep breath.
Am I dreaming, or is life all in?
Am I destined to be more than just a phone call?
Am I delusional—
or do I adore you,
as the tree loves its blooms,
as its flowers bear fruit,
as new life begins?
And what of a new life for me?
One with big brown eyes,
a toothless grin,
one who loves his tummy
filled to the brim.
My students will love these—
They’ll never understand
We harvested a greater plan.
Those reddish-pink, succulent fruits
led me deeper into the soul of you.
We picked apple trees.
Then, we had our baby.
Submitted: February 26, 2025
© Copyright 2025 Betty Caprelli. All rights reserved.
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