High on
Gladys’ Hill
Behind the
hulk of
the
weather-worn barn
the old
Macintosh tree
now, like
Gladys, only a whisp
at the edge
of her memory
bears the
best apples
she has ever
bitten
Bright
scarlet skin
Inside crisp
white and pink
tangy and
tart
She and
Gladys’ Frances
eldest and
adventurous daughters
clutch their
fruit and climb
higher and
higher
up the
ladder
to perch
free as summer swallows
on the barn
roof
in the sky
crunching
swooping
born to fly
9
May 2012
