PEELING APPLES SOMEWHERE IN 1914




the War not yet
a week old
already tears that will last years





she can still see
his pale hands
peeling apple after apple





the apples
looking startled
**** beside their skins




the naked apples
the flamenco swirl of their skins
his hands pale as death





now where the apples lay
that day
the telegram of his death




she can still see him
turning into the shadows
throwing her an apple with a smile




she is angry with him
for dying
her love not enough to protect him





under her apron
the baby kicks
it will have his smile