On the anxieties of owning an orchard – NaPoWriMo 4

And so we made it through March –

those late frosts, threatening –

and now the quince tree

is dreaming about leaves,

spring green, wax crayon.

 

My daughter’s upstairs,

studying for exams

 

I’ve walked down through

the orchard – they’re all there –

even the baby Bramleys are OK.

They’re on the brink

of blossoming.

 

We’re going to look

at prom dresses this week.

 

It will be bullfinches next,

apricot bellied, almost

forgiveable, stripping

the flowers on the

crab apple. I can only watch.

 

My daughter’s got a place

at college, for September.

 

And then the blackbirds,

those egg yolk yellow beaks

plunging and pecking

at the ripening fruit.

 

And me. Hovering

and flapping, like an

anxious angel, watching,

waiting, holding back.

 

Trusting their wisdom.

 

Day 4 of NaPoWriMo, and we are prompted to add specific details to our poem, to ground it in reality. NaPoWriMo 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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