Apple Sauce

Perhaps this is the place the

Apples broke and

Spread their mushy

Hopefulness

and seeds

Between the juicy

Fallowing

Where

Nothing would grow

but weeds 

Until the rolling under

of a sour bite

untasted

Gave way to

lick a moment there

And breath

From where

There was no claim

Came a calvary

of sweet relief

And left her stronger 

Even so

the sour had left

A bittterness

Too deep for what we say

Can be

And still the apples

Left their mark

A brown and rigid apple stain

Altogether not alone but

Not a place

To wait or stay

Catherine MacAdam