Tuesday Poem: From The Grove in the Eye of Light poem series

Crabapple

Squinting over purple
Koolaid in a gallon jug,
we climbed Sandy Hill for picnics
under what we called the monkey tree,
small bites from its hard sour fruit
for make-believe dessert.

Jeffrey Bud hung by his knees
from the best gnarled branch,
his freckled face upside down,
eyes blue and soft
as the curtain descending
on each summer day.

He never knew how the rest of us felt
about him, how when he wasn’t there
we swore that God must’ve known
how much we needed someone new,
God must’ve sent him to play with us
because we’d been so good.