White Apples

when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
                         I sat up in bed

and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door

white apples and the taste of stone

if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes

by Donald Hall

Comments (7)

Well written poem Katherine.Congratulations on being member of the day Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Up this way! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
The trees are out in Heaven they say. Slowly, slowly, The Spring comes slowly up our way. I can visualise the Spring coming slowly, slowly, treading soft steps. A very sweet and simple poem that attracts with its rhythm.
An extraordinary way of using simple words in a rhythmic pattern, to express a natural climatic change. Thanks for sharing. x
A good poem about spring welcomed.
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