“The Apple Tree”
© 2013 by Michael L. Utley
The apple tree
Behind the house
Has long ago
Stopped bearing fruit
It stands alone
In sickness bold
Half its branches
Dead or dying
Leaves the hue
Of summers past
Defy the sun
The pouring rain
Bound there in
White-knuckled grip
On mournful twigs
On listless boughs
As autumn fades
The leaves succumb
Each one a
Small gold suicide
Each gilded drop
A dying spark
A universe now
Mute in death
No one knows
This apple tree
Behind the house
A secret world
Where eons pass
And ages fade
Unknown to all
Except to me
And chilly sun
And hurried cloud
And thoughtless bird
And bitter breeze
The pristine snow
Has covered all
A silent shroud
Has fallen here
An icy dirge
A funeral pall
As winter metes
A healing balm
In sanguine hope
That springtime sun
Will summon forth
The apple tree
But even so
It saddens me
This futile thing
This apple tree
That cannot see
It matters not
If life abounds
When living hurts
To live alone
Infirm and weak
While bony fingers
Seek the sky
And wretched leaves
In breezes weep
And shattered dreams
Litter the ground
In autumn piles
Of yellow dross
That go unseen
And fade away
Silent Pariah 
Wow, Mike… I really, really like this one!
❤
David
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Thanks, David. Seriously, coming from you–a fellow whose poetry I admire so much–this means the world to me. Your kind words are very much appreciated. 🙂
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“And wretched leaves
In breezes weep
And shattered dreams
Litter the ground”
Loved it, as always! 🙂
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“No one knows
This apple tree
Behind the house
A secret world”
🙂
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Thank you much, Saima, for your comments on this poem. That apple tree existed (and perhaps it still does–I haven’t visited the family farm in seven years) and grew behind the house near my bedroom window, so I saw it every day while growing up. I felt pity for it. There was a sadness about it as it struggled so hard to survive and bear tiny green apples. Half of its branches were dead or dying, and it really did resemble a gnarled old hand reaching toward the sky. It was also a metaphor for my mom, whose health deteriorated over the years and left her nearly bedridden. In the end, the apple tree outlasted my mom. It’s one of those hidden things that holds deep meaning for those who look and see and listen to nature. It’s one of my favorite poems. Thanks for your kind words. 🙂
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🙂 Thank you so much, Mike, for sharing your very personal experience and memories of the “apple tree”, and also a lot more — which is very close to your heart (i can feel it), that’s why this poem is so beautiful, it’s one of my favourite poems (by you) too💕🙂
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*feeling honored and humbled* 🙂
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