The End of April

The end of National Poetry Month snuck up on me.  I tried to write at least one poem of my own to celebrate, but here we are on April 30th and I didn’t quite finish it.  But, here’s what I have so far…

Did the apple tree cringe
when it saw your pocket knife
Did it cry when you cut a limb
You stripped off twigs and blooms
Whipped it once, piercing the air
I thought I heard it scream
It made the same sound
when slapping my legs
I screamed
Your nature made switch stung
not like a bee
not like a fly swatter
not like your belt
Did the apple tree cry in pain
when you cut it.
I did.
How can something so sweet
as you,
as that tree’s fruit,
hurt so much?

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