Crabapple Tree

Fruit sweet, mostly sour,
(I can eat more than anyone)
We gather up in black garbage bags,
Not really sure why.
I tell them we will sell them, or
Make pies. Mostly I eat the good ones,
Keeping an eye out for worms.
Once I ate half of one,
The other half wriggling, dying, in the white circle
Left by my last bite.
We built a ladder from old rope
And sticks, even though the tree was small and we could reach
The lower branches. Adventurers use rope ladders, I told them.
It broke while I climbed it,
My wind knocked out on the roots. But I didn't,
Wouldn't tell anyone it hurt. I laughed and said
Oh well. The cold grass felt good on bruises
Anyway.