Apple Blossoms

By John Mamas


Each and every spring, for one week only,

The apple blossoms bloom, in all their glory.

The pinkened wisps of spring light the sky,

and paint my mind of love and compassion. 


“Round the apple blossoms we meet 

In the gentleness of spring’s heat” 


I live in a duality of apple blossoms—

And sandstone. 


Within these sandstone walls, the heat is held.

Arguments turn into month long fights,

Slamming of doors, parents in and out, 

like the winter making space for spring. 


Their perfume, a seductive scent of bliss,

of dreaming, of longing, of escape. 

The fairies gather round these wisps 

And sing their delicate melody: 


“Round the apple blossoms we meet 

Yet, spring’s sojourn is bittersweet” 


I think once again about the sandstone; 

how it has weathered all sorts of storms; 

yet it could not weather the hatred within its walls.

Defenses have weakened; all that remains is a split stone.


“Round the apple blossoms we meet

Soon a fleeting feeling of spring retreat” 


Unfortunately for us: 

the apple blossoms do not last 

before returning to their fairyland of whimsy—

and unity. I chase the memory of their melody.


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