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.
