The Tale of the Apple Tree

The wind comes and the apple sees its chance.
It pulls and tugs, heaves and ho’s,
But the stem is yet supple, green with promise.
The wind dies down, the tree chuckles, and the apple sags.
Next time.

The child comes, a little girl, the mother watching from afar.
As they climb looking for the reddest, most luscious fruit of all
The apple slicks itself back, bares its widest smile.
But just as the ingénue stretches out in its direction,
They are called back to safety, to warm, welcoming arms.
The tree snickers, the apple sighs.
Next time.

The fox comes by, chasing its next meal
That has scurried to shelter within the tree’s hollow.
Defeated, the canine looks upward, and the apple starts.
It stretches down, Adam and Eve be damned.
But the tree holds fast and the fox proves the more divine,
It shakes itself and scampers away.
The tree smirks, and the apple wails.
Next time.

The season passes, and the apple looks nervously
At the brittle peduncle holding it still.
The tree notices, and for the first time, speaks.

Why do you worry, my child, about where you will fall?
Look there, among the spaces between my roots where you will tumble,
Cushioned by my leaves, shielded by my branches,
Digested by none but the worms
Beneath my soil.

There you will be nourished by the sun I will share with you
The water I will trickle down upon your remains
Until your withered self finally gives way
And your rhizomes intertwine with mine
For the centuries to come.

The apple weeps silently at the tree’s speech,
Gazes with horror and longing at its promised land of rebirth,
And this time

It falls.