Here On Apple Island Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

here on apple island
winesap sunsets come and go,
stray cats,

the whirring of fans slowly
on the skyscapes
of our favorite landings.

call it home.
and in an unexpcted breeze
confettied light

we'll have apple tarts complete with
tea sets carved of wood and deep
within they harbor

teacups, saucers
everything pretend
you could wish for

being new to housekeeping.

children play in the pinkening doorways
apple cheeked and are so neat
and housewives sweep

when the needles fall
all golden delicious when
it's Christmas always

toffee foiled and laden
and apple buttered up and down the yards
for all the visiting bards

whose poems are labeled in the little store
near the feedsacks and the jams, the canned
goods and the rose geraniums: the oversalted hams,

'made on Apple Island'.

mary angela douglas 5 september 2015