Having Had My Say

Was a fond illusion
The woman who was supposed to be me is supremely self-confidant
While I am caught in the constraints and opportunities of the real world
Like the apple tree illuminated by setting sun
How its small green fruit is tight and bitter holding close to the branch
In July when heat pulls the thermometer on the porch to 100
I stay as close as I can to the idea of apple
Growing like a dream in the unconscious, not visibly moving yet suddenly Becoming August when apple full round and sweet
Lets go and falls like a dream from the branch to grass below
My dream, growing imperceptibly towards falling
The sweetness of realizing itself like apple so ripe and juicy
I do not seize quickly but rather
Savor the moment of readiness to feel teeth into sweet flesh
Tasting the moment of August juice over my tongue
Deep enough to touch shadow unnamed by anyone’s language.


c.maryjulia pub.Kalliope