Also as a last side note, my essay, "Haven" is up on the Whistling Fire web site today. This is an essay about when I was hit by a car in New York and teaching writing at Goldwater Hospital. Hope you enjoy it.
I find today's/yesterday's prompt fascinating. So much of what I have written so far this month has been about trauma. I thought today I'd shift to talk about the power and strength one gains from a job well done. Apple harvest back in the late 1890s was a slow, intense process. For today, I tried to think about what it would have been like to bring that first harvest into town and sell it to market. To watch it taken away by train toward Petaluma and to return to an empty orchard.
It Was Not An Emotion I Knew By Heart
For weeks we had picked and stacked and boxed the fruit.
The thick sweet smell of ripe fruit followed me everywhere.
Yellow jackets swarmed the fallen fruit.
Days swelled thick and bloated until they blurred one into the next.
Then, the lightening came.
The way the wagon's wood base rose without the weight it had carried once the apples were sold.
The way my body unwound over miles, and finally settled
The way sleep spilled deliously over the dark night like a dark, overpowering joy.