The Apple Seed
He pinches the apple seed,
rescued from the core.
Pokes it into the soil of the flower box,
pats it down with confidence.
No more trips to WinCo for apples,
he assures me.
“I’ll climb our apple tree and pick them.”
This faith, that if he plants it, they will grow.
Squirrels ignore this seed in its shallow nest.
It sprouts and thrives on sunlight,
a boy’s hope.
He passes dreams to this new life:
Soon, surely this year, you’ll be mighty.
a foot above the box,
a promise grows
to feed our family for life.
Soon, surely this year, apples
will weigh down its branches.
As tall as my child,
the leafy sapling fills out,
soon surpassing the height of his daddy.
The boy creates a sign:
“Water my tallest plant Monday Wednesday Friday.”
I think he forgets all about it.
The boy sees; he knows.
Soon, surely this year, he’ll be climbing.
And I worry.
Will it die?
Where will we place an apple tree,
when our yard crowds with maples?
I plant it in a bigger pot.
I wonder with my boy.
Soon, surely next summer, apples.