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Picking Apples
by Dan LinnMom sighs as I take apples from her bough,
the burden of fruit's weight is lifted now,
to comfort from the reach of time she tried,
in this field, not just a letter,
or prayer, but something better,
to say she'd care for us after she died.
My father gave me strength to do this task.
His ladder lifts me up each time I ask.
I stand alone in field alive with hope,
apples thudding hit the ground,
feeling all of them around,
father to a son's granddaughter spoke.
Truth our parents both held in their hearts,
gathered here now in their scattered parts.
In boxes full of long sustaining giving,
through time I reach my hand,
to pick the product of the land,
and pass love from lovers past unto the living. 10/19/2011 Posted on 11/20/2011
Copyright © 2025 Dan Linn
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by LK Barrett on 11/20/11 at 11:55 PM Every word speaks, holds, and shares the intense generosity of one generation for another...lovely and open in these portraits, these characters and their lives...a fine write, thank you...lk |
| Posted by Marjorie Anne Reagan on 03/30/12 at 02:07 AM Wonderful your use of apples somewhat symbolizing life like an egg. Rightfully so, wonder how many kept our ancestors alive through cold winters. Life and death spring and the ritual of picking the earths good riches. Grew up picking apples in PA and had to take my daughter from Florida. Everyone should plant and pick an apple tree once. Beautiful write! |
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