Ursula granger and i
walk mulberry row during
bottling season

and hewes crab apples greet us from the orchard floor. we start
low under the protection of bittersharp apples that wait, glowing
to be remembered. ursula says she’s seen everyone she loves


in an apple, save herself. says she knows an apple dreams and
dreams her through the winters. she makes cider in the meantime
years. picks off the orchard floor all day, loving how it never seems


to clear. eyes on everyone she can recollect while telling me
how jefferson pieced a family back together in time for a sparkling
season. how martha wanted a lifetime of you and made a home


through your hands. tell me again of being summoned for knowing
apples and flour and how they meet to make heaven. tell me how to
save my elegies for bottling season. how to make an orchard an altar


a bottle a revelation, iridescent. for five weeks white yellow dogwoods
witness the wake in bloom. stars find ursula laughing at the world’s end
in a new idea. smiling her orchard a farewell. a double pie beckons.


Read on . . .

Feeding the Compost Heap,” a poem by Alberto Álvaro Ríos


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