Resurrection of the little apple tree outside
my window, leaf-
light of late
in the April
called her eyes, forget
forget—
but how
How does one go
about dying?
Who on earth
is going to teach me—
The world
is filled with people
who have never died
~Franz Wright “On Earth” from Walking to Martha’s Vineyard
The year Dylan’s mother died
I picked sprays of apple blossom,
wound its pink, off-white shades
in raffia for you to take to him.
Every year it’s out I think of us,
the children, how apples bring
the tree so low, until they thud
to the lawn, drumming the end
of summer. The blossom was heavy
when Dylan’s mother was dying –
old wood doing its best again –
and he, like you, was so young.
~Jackie Wills “Apple Blossom”
Is there anything in Spring so fair
As apple blossoms falling through the air?
When from a hill there comes a sudden breeze
That blows freshly through all the orchard trees.
The petals drop in clouds of pink and white,
Noiseless like snow and shining in the light.
Making beautiful an old stone wall,
Scattering a rich fragrance as they fall.
There is nothing I know of to compare
With apple blossoms falling through the air.
~Henry Adams Parker “Apple Blossoms”
Jesus,
Apple of God’s eye,
dangling solitaire
on leafless tree,
bursting red.
As he drops
New Eden dawns
and once again
we Adams choose:
God’s first fruit
or death.
~Christine F. Nordquist “Eden Inversed”
But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead.
For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ.
1 Corinthians 15:20-23
The rain eased enough
to allow blades of grass to stand back up
refreshed, yet unsuspecting,
primed for the mower’s next cutting swath.
Clusters of pink tinged blossoms
sway in response to my mower’s pass.
Apple buds bulge on snagging branches,
showering me from their hidden raindrop reservoirs
collected within each blushing petal cup.
My face anointed by perfumed apple tears
when I tend to forget – forget–
this first fruit is offered, not forbidden,
hanging from the tree, broken
so our hearts will drop too, bursting open red
with Him.
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