Amos 8:1-2

Amos sees a basket of ripe fruit
What do you see? says the Lord
I see a basket of ripe fruit
The time for judgment is ripe
Sweet smelling, shiny-skinned
Juiciness running down between fingers
Like blood on the hands of the murderer
We all pay for the sugary nectars
Under our tongue, turning bitter,
Rotting away our teeth
We cannot speak in our own defense
Our mouths overflowing, full of the fruit
Of our own destruction
I am only saved if you take my plate away
For I can do nothing but eat
What my own hands have prepared
So many dead bodies
Silence

Falling

leaves you float
falling
shocking gold carpet
beautiful in death

tiptoeing softly over
in shiny gold shoes
I hate to bruise you
friends

frozen I soak up your sunshine
as my hopes fall
fluttering
loneliness my constant winter

in death and life
beautiful
if I could only join you
in your sleep

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.