i am sorry
you will not
live long enough
to see the cup fall
you will not see
the spiderwebbed
crinkles like fabric
on the glass pane
you will spend
two seconds wondering
the sound it will make
and the next one
hoping no one
cuts their hand
bloody on glass
shards, and you
will spend the last two
haunted by your love.
how did
you do it? to live
obsessed, obsessed
by the fruit
of your labors, you
spent hours on that
rickety ladder, i said
to get a new one
it is too old, and
it hurts your feet
but you clung on
as you always did
i hate you for that
you should have
put the ladder
away in the shed
let it rest, let yourself
rest and leave the apples
on the tree for someone
else to worry about
instead of trying
foolishly to catch
every single fruit
even i know
that’s impossible.
are you lonely
you talk of
the woodchuck
who lives by the
riverbank, who
burrows under soft
earth, was he
your only friend
he went to sleep
last winter
but he did not
come back, you
cling as you always
do, you say to me
that the woodchuck
will wake up soon
i tell you, no
the woodchuck
is not coming back
if the woodchuck
is not coming back,
you say, then who
will tell me
what it’s like
to sleep.
go to sleep
it is winter, and you
are talking nonsense
as usual, get down
from that ladder,
there you go, don’t
worry about that
barrel, the ladder
wedged between branches
of your apple tree
my god, i can’t
pull it out, you always
make things difficult,
old man, just
rest, your apples
are fine
you should know
that no fruit
that strikes the earth
no matter bruised
or spiked with stubble
is ever wasted
cider tastes good
with roast pork.
i tell you
i am sorry
the glass pane
is not broken,
only cracked
but when i go
and pick it up
it shatters over my
bloody fingers
across the hoary grass.