Ashen Apple | Jay M Mower

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The ashen apple of these days… Denise Levertov

An abandoned orchard reeks of cider,
bronzed balls of fruit rot to their cores
on a pathway floor. While green weeds
strangle ancient footsteps, an eight-foot 
tripod ladder—four rungs cracked, one missing—
pokes between barren trees with some leaves 
withered crisp and a few rotten apples 
hanging from strands like broken spider webs.

A well-used box truck, now grey and rusted,
wants for cargo. The driver-side door rests
in a junkyard over the rise and two tires
that remain are flat as Kansas. The once
festive two-story farmhouse with boarded
windows missing, shudders as winds whistle
through its frame. Dingy white clapboard 
cries for paint, but no one lives there to care.
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