the apple orchard & the strawberry fields

Love lives in the mountains of Western Virginia

where the apple orchard is

we use tools I've never seen

to stab the apples high up in the trees

farther than either of us can reach

I twist the pole and it grabs a red apple

It comes down in a basket like a gift for me

both of my hands hold the small fruit that I plan to devour

when I look down I feel sorry for the ones that rot under my feet

that I will not know the taste of them,

they will not know what it's like to be eaten

Love lives in the dimple on the left side of my face when I smile

it's measured by the weight of the beg we carry home

the cost of the cash that you no longer own

the many, many miles on the drive home

love - we toss it carelessly with the cores we throw out

let its juice flow through the strainer into the pot

let it boil on the stove and emit its vapor

it smells like cider, a disguise for the kitchen disaster

but no love went wasted

it wasn't a failure

it was the final October before we constantly bickered

that summer we opted to pick strawberries instead

we didn't make the jam, we handed it over to someone with experience

and it came out a success

I came home with a sunburn, but it turned to a tan

we didn't argue about the music playing on the way home

from the mountains

driving East through Virginia