She Never Guessed the Apple Tree Was on My List
by Wilda Morris

Who nurtured your growth,
a friend asks, expecting me
to mention my parents, grandparents,
and teachers–and she was right
but not completely so.
She didn’t expect me to mention
the apple tree grandfather planted.

That tree was the retreat
where I found peace and quiet,
where summer breezes breathing
through the leaves cooled me,
brushed away sorrows
and concerns, where the sweet fruit
salved my hunger while the tree
calmed my fears.

The trunk was thick
and the branches firm enough
to hold a growing girl
unsure of her place in the world.
The apple tree welcomed me
as I climbed to my own special limb.
It held me tight.

Each spring, I imagine
those pure, white blossoms.
Each fall, I can almost taste
the ripe, red fruit.
Though lightning took down
the apple tree, it’s place in my heart
is as secure as I felt in its branches.



 

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