Farm, Poetry
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at wilkens fruit and fir farm

I was sad to have missed apple picking a couple of weekends ago. Here’s a poem from my last year’s visit. Apples and gratitude, always. ❤

Crystal Rivera


the McIntosh apple tree has a brace on each side.
so many of the trees here are leaning and breaking or already
broken. they are the ones that bare the most fruit.

i, too, have this much to give.
said this to myself as i had one knee
in the apple-mud
of the fallen.


“why bag ’em or
buy ’em? when picking them alone is
so much fun.”

if only trees had a choice
on who
to give. who not.

suddenly i wanted to stop picking,
start searching for ones on the ground
to take home.
but they were already bruised,
already gotten-to,
half-eaten by man
or ant,
and i can’t save every goddamn thing no i
can’t save every
goddamn thing

want to.


are we the only
poets here?

i take an apple and another would drop.
immediately you pick it up and place it into…

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