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Apple Picking

 I wrote this poem after what would have been Lauren’s 16th birthday. I was driving to my friend Katie’s house and we drove past the apple orchard that Lauren and Sam and I had picked apples at to make apple pie with a couple weeks before she died. I pass that orchard all the time but on that day I remembered its significance, unsummoned the memory overwhelmed me. I wasn’t looking to remember, it just came. At first I was sad, thinking that now every time I pass that orchard I will think of Lauren. But then I realized that that was a good thing, that was a way to make sure I never forget. That’s what I was saying in this poem.

 Apple Picking

Passing Holmberg’s just like any other day,

but today is different.

But why today?

Last week I was fine, even happy, a

pillar of that sad, calming joy

that comes at times.

I want to be sad sometimes. I wish I

thought of her more, that every day

I could have a little tidbit of memory.

Because forgetting would be the worst thing of all.

Remember, every time I hiccup, every time I sing,

every time I find a good book (she had a knack

for picking them out).

Be grateful for that day

passing the orchard,

and my stomach tightened with the weight of her presence.



February 2006



confused but commenting

i am so confused. i already commented this, but i'm trying again... :/