Tin Roof
.
When I was 17
apples were busheled in baskets —
and I was the straw under those red round spirits
All the light coming in
was planked and slanted across them
and every wasp in the world
hovered just above them.
Yes
Whatever apples were
I wanted to be.
.
And in a way
When I was 17
apples ate me —
What was to become my heart
was only some wild weedy row in a orchard out back.
And any sheen reflecting off their skins or the barn’s tin roof
was all that I wanted to be.
.
When I was 17
with every seed buried deep inside
even my gangly gaze was humming.
And somehow I knew before tasting anything
tartly sweet
that that was what I wanted to be
right there
in the baskets.
.
Hiram Larew is a global hunger specialist. His poems have appeared recently in The New Ulster, Lunaris Review, Voices Israel,Hedge Apple, and Contemporary American Voices. His fourth collection, Undone, was published in 2018 by FootHills Publishing. On Facebook at Hiram Larew, Poet and at Poetry X Hunger.
North of Oxford 
My comment won’t adequately tell how much I enjoyed and am impressed with your poem, Hiram. I’m awed, so need to return to it in a few days to re-read it. I am sure I will be mightily impressed again.
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