Dust to Green Apple Dust

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Dust to Green Apple Dust 

She strips-standing on a wicker chair

strips for him holding his green bottle by

its neck – easy as he’d hold hers - telling her

not to fuss not that she would when he done

gone to plop spread-eagle, slack-faced ready

to squeeze the life out of her throat if she stops

moving – standing on the wicker chair creaking with

her bare feet –

as might falls and the tower lights come

up in the city sparking light after light until

they shine like a tiara in the distance and she

can pretend, as his eyes shutter-shut sleep rolling

the bottle from 

ham-fist

unfurled

she can pretend that maybe God did make

little green apples and maybe it won’t snow

this year in Minneapolis when the winter comes

and as she pushes the chair back to the table and

pulls on her jeans and tee shirt moves to the baby

crying in the other room – she can pass him sleeping

now – a stray lock of hair falling on his forehead and

believe that she sure was just giving him a bit of fun and his

love is as sure as the sweet green apple dust from which they

both came and where they will all return some day –

some pretty sweet day –

some pretty sweet day –

soon  

~ 

The Sunday Whirl « weekly wordles