The Burning of the Apple Orchard
Julia Ponder
The morning begins with a molting of limbs;
the workers have begun the ceremonial burn
of the apple orchard. Each tree is wrenched
from the dirt and dragged to a growing cascade
of branches and ember; fuji, macintosh, and golden delish,
have all lost their definition as the inferno
grows and the sun peeks over the horizon to bear
witness. It is a purge of past selves,
diseased, pest-ridden, or perfectly healthy.
You can see the bonfire from miles away beckoning
as it dispels, inviting as it cautions. Each flake of new
ash like some secret message landing in your gnarled
hands while you marvel at the sky, saying to you,
This is what you were, this is what you are, this
is what you will be. Already the neighboring orchards
have started to redden and blossom. Do they take notice
of the scorched earth beside them?