Apples
by Diana Cole

You lie in the bowl,
not to bite into life,
not to spray juice into air
or bounce off branches
rolling the distance.

Your bruises and sores
are the color of fawn
but your face is ruddy
keeping up the parody
of stout life. Stay intact —

days come in metal pails,
mornings steeped red.
Leaves wedge within,
send me climbing questions.
Verdigris thickens and rains.

I am livid with life.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 4.

Diana Cole’s poem Though I Walk, set for double chorus by Thomas Stumpf, was selected by the Pharos Music Project and performed in New York City. Other poems have appeared in numerous journals including Blueline, Avocet, Off the Coast, The Christian Century, The Tipton Poetry Journal, Slipstream, Poetry East, and Spillway.

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