The Crab-apple Tree in Your Yard

The Crab-apple Tree in Your Yard

Each spring in your yard, a crab-apple tree, two stories tall

unfolds rosy ruffles, spills petals in showers of silk,

soft as your new baby’s skin.  The tree sprinkles a blessing

for those who can see.

 

Yet one morning at five, your neighbour appears

outside in her housecoat, its belt cinched tight,

outside in her yard with not a leaf out of place;

her hands on her hips, she stands under a fresh fall of petals,

a gift from the breeze.

Ah! Glory sifting pink through morning’s slant light.

But her face is pulled into a purse of frowns,

as she glares up at your flowering crab.

 

She sweeps; head down, studying the slate slabs.  She’s battling invasion.

Waging a war, she conquers each petal, every last one.

Heaving a sigh, with her brown slippers and broom,

she retreats to her house, so tidy and beige.  And later,

I hear her leaf-blower blowing, dusting the lawn

again and again.

 

Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.