plucked with wickets, long-handled,

for faraway branches bowed with fruit -

red, gold, green. Mother's hands passed

to daughter's fingers, released into the basket,

crispness of fall for winter ahead.

Remember harvest days -

sweetness of Macoun, tart surprise

of Granny Smith, juicy Winesap.

Savor flesh and spirit; grasp

the fruit, a true heart

of bright seeds, orchards to grow.

Each apple a moment, apple

nested to apple, sweet, delicious.

after From Blossoms by Li-Young Lee