APPLE TO APPLE
In the season
of apples suspended
in air,
wood piles
and winter spiders,
you are lost
with a canvas bag;
an apple
a book
and a camera.
Travel past
previous windows,
a green house
between
here and not
take a photographbooks
hold clues,
save the
apple
for later.
You fall forward
from this page
landing,
dear one,
on this spot.
House still standing
pine board fence,
faintest
tincture
of fog,
someone must have
eaten
the apple.
Author’s Bio
SUSAN HUGHSON is a transplanted Maritimer, poet, mother, veterinarian, humanist, activist, maker of art song, and pragmatic romantic.