Sunday, March 16, 2014

Fighting the Fuss - Miss Mabley - In the city of Green Apple Dust

George Hodan

Fighting the Fuss  - Miss Mabley  - In the city of Green Apple Dust

In the city of Green Apple Dust* she stood slack 
under the tower panting 
tried to squeeze dry the bolt of her tears, 
slice them to small thin strips -  
let them drift from her fingertips 
lifted onto the wind with the visage
of Billy-Boy’s plop into her porch rocker
let the visage go - 
trailing these filmy strips of
tears over the vast green country side 
as she tried to forget how he had risen 
bottle in hand - turned his back
and slapped down the steps and out of her life
into the sweet rot of green apple dust swirling
the rocker still creaking the way that wicker will


"the city of green apple dust" is credited to Catherine McGregor
who mentioned such in a Sunday Whirl post and once glanced upon birthed this
poem .... 


  1. I love the image of her tears and how they go from bolt to filmy strips.

    1. Thank you so very much Laurie - as I said elsewhere no idea where this idea came from - but once it floated in I enjoyed it very much - deeply appreciate your stopping by and pointing to this favorite image:)

  2. Replies
    1. Yes, once heard I could not let that go - I still have some other ideas floating about - thanks you Annell :)

  3. Love this, especially:
    "tried to squeeze dry the bolt of her tears"

    1. De - have no idea where this image came from but I too enjoyed It! Thanks for the mention - so very much appreciated :)

  4. Oh, I can see that wicker chair, empty and rocking, at the end. Says it all. Wonderful write!

    1. Hi Sherry - Oh thanks you always can seem to see things the way they come to me... so deeply appreciated :)

  5. Wonderful Poem. Glad that strange line inspired you. I have my poem up now.

  6. What a wonderful piece, once I read it properly :-) Bravo!

    1. Apologies R.K. what did you need to read "properly" - ? lol
      Happy you enjoyed and deeply appreciate your stopping by to comment :)

  7. It left me breathless. A beautiful write, Pearl. Thank you.

  8. I love the wicker creaking after he had left. Like it does... And those tears. More than just salty water, they become material and fly like bindings, ribbons through the poem.

  9. It sounds so final, especially the part about the empty rocker still rocking. Nice piece of work!