Apple-ogia

They are our atonement for the half-eaten cores tossed from dusty, finger- smeared train windows, sprouted into hoards of apples, sparkling orbs, railway siding orchards. They’re a feast for birds, burnished rosy and russet, worm-holed and sweetly rotting to the fading drone of wasps drunk on the sadness of sugar. In spring, wind-fresh blossoms flutter […]