Fruit Trees by Kimberly RhodeAs she lugs with the weight of her left hemisphere,
garbage with a hole at the bottom.
She can't see headlights through the wind,
Clever tapshoe steps approaching.
He sees her skin soft as ever, he smells the cinnamon
in an empty oven.
He was seeking atheism, a woman like soap
in his mouth after its rebirth at the drive thru.
She'd lick her fingers, he'd sing along.
Standing infront of the heavenly glow
of a truckstop facing dawn.
It's all over the news, all that's been stolen,
haunting softer than glass skin.
A whole year of war, bees in fruit trees.
In her wool skirt lies a thousand screams
of radio rememberance.
On this corner they faced opposite directions.
She invents the memory of a broken light
tilts her head to nurture the blur.
Before the first dance, mother's silver shawl around her
boney shoulder, this boy could not deny the frailty.
Now there are no commuters on this
narrow road of rocks, no headlights.
He bites down hard, there is no winter here.
Just a constant whistle that bends around those redwoods
and the wooden spoon she taps against her collarbone
to hear that hollow sound.
All of these years she says they've been
sprouting maggots, her pots and rags.
And under the sink there is bleach in a bucket.
In the drawer there is a watch with a diamond,
he had engraved in the city, in the biting November air.
But there is nothing that sparkles on this
path, no dancers in their traveling shoes.
No fur coats in this uncombable land.
They sit at the picnic table, west of the barn.
The broken engine out of sight.
Her eyes still a threat, burned out and delicious
like the apples trees they dreamed of once.
Apples that fall on earth made of pillows,
always polished, apples that could never bruise.
All he ever needed was a bite into that skin.
She turns to the weeds and wonders if today
they will get any sun. 11/13/2007 Posted on 11/13/2007 Copyright © 2024 Kimberly Rhode
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/02/13 at 02:54 PM A remarkable piece. So glad to have read this. |
Posted by Linda Fuller on 10/02/13 at 11:36 PM I'm just going to echo Kristina. I find it hard to believe this poem hadn't been commented on previously. |
Posted by Ken Harnisch on 10/10/13 at 09:36 PM The imagery herein is awesome; the "fruit" divine. |
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