Tuesday Poem: From The Grove In The Eye of Light Poem Series

Carl Fredrik Hill "Apple Tree in Blossom"

Apple

How I wished Uncle Charlie
would save himself for me,
his unabashed love a road
that looked so happy up ahead.

I remember being four years old,
and full of more hope than dread,
though all eyes in the church were on me,
as he waited, black-tuxedoed,
at the altar for his bride,

and dawdling down the white
carpet stretched between us,
the air alive with vigil lights,
burning a secret message to God,
watching him nod each time
I scattered a handful of petals, pink as
my cheeks, somewhere along the way.

Until my mother reached out,
and gently pulled me into the pew,
as Aunt Jean, her gown a ruffled
whipped cream cake, floated by,
her footsteps smelling of roses.