Elsie eats a Granny Smith apple and remembers

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