1/28/2020: I’m already getting emails from Jewish places regarding Tu BiShvat, so naturally, thinking about my grandma’s apple tree is on my mind. Here’s a really old post that I imported in my blog and saved for a moment like this….
Originally posted + written 07/03/2012
Under the Apple Tree ~
I am saddened to hear about Andy Griffith passing away. I loved his show, so much, and it was the only show that my best/ religious grandma would ever tolerate watching when she was alive. Hence, the reason why this kind of triggered my sense to write this poem that’s been trying to bust out of me forever.. I guess it really wasn’t time yet? Maybe I have written it before. I don’t remember. All I know is that I have struggled long enough to write this…But here goes:
Under the Apple Tree – for dVerse Poets –
by Karen Maeby 7/3/12
A special book lies before her.
It’s a story book – opened – directly to the future.
Years from then – and only – she didn’t know.
She leans up against the trunk of her claimed apple tree.
Not one worry about the ants or little critters around her –
she continues to take tiny bites of her apple
until she’s done and she grabs her Barbie dolls and
continues to play. She fixes to swing on the tiny wooden plank
tied with rope in her apple tree.
A young life is sitting under the apple tree,
each and every summer
makes a difference as she’s small.
A small town seemed so big
until she’s grown
and the memories fade
to be nothing more than written on paper.
It’s such a rush to take notes
on the dreams she has to fulfill those memories –
trying to make it last. Trying to share her story.
Her fill of the tree is over:
even if she didn’t want it to be – but there’s
so many cores in the ground from so many picked apples.
She’s so close to the Heavens and so close to God.
Lying under the apple tree one last time
in the dirt and muck, nothing but a piece of clothing
coming between her and the ground. She feels closer to them –
the ones that are gone. The ones who are buried there.
The ones she never knew – but the ones she’s much closer to.
She holds the hand of those that died.
She holds the hand of every single one of the ones that have died.
It’s a special gift that only she has and very few has heard.
– something she can mention but no one will understand
and they will call her crazy.
“They’re cutting down my apple tree?” Was the last thing she said,
in a questionable manner.
She’s trying her best to put her story together
and it’s so very hard to do. Feelings from every where.
But as every good thing – it must come to an end.
But she keeps holding on, as at one point,
the alive must meet the dead.. in the center… and settle in.