“You can’t cut into an apple
without shining it a bit.”
Grandpa pulled his handkerchief,
polished the heart-shaped fruit
then gave it to me to twist the stem;
our walk along the river’s rim.
He’d grown up by an orchard
hauling carts of seasonal bins.
The golden delicious harvesting season
meant he’d be late for school again.
He’d then take out his pocket knife
and cut us each a perfect slice.
The cool cheesecake flesh,
and the perfect smiling wedge
my teeth could etch-a-sketch.
I’d eat mine like a watermelon,
tossing out the rosy rind.
Poison from our family’s grounds
made Grandpa lose his mind.
He taught me silence
somewhere beneath the apple trees that
will outlive us both.
Patient planter, wisdom-speaker,
thank you, for tending me while I grew.
© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved
Art Credit: Scott Shearer
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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