Only take what we can carry
In Spanish you have each year of your
tiene mucho anos,
as though each an apple, breaking
from burlap. He has 23, she only 5.
Poor thing, this one is doubled
over with a load that looks nearly seven
I’ve thought backwards on how many seeds
this gives us each, how many eager bites.
I have little blood left,
pushing her cart. No
Her face says: I
might have refused these last,
(but who refuses the sweet?)
While las manzanas don their most
and hands are placed at 3 and 10,
she is still reaching;
Mio dios. Mine.
And with gentle splintering
a fruit wagon ends its climb.
Wendy Merry is a poet and writer from
California. Her work has been published within multiple editions
of Dossier Journal as well as the Huffington Post, Arts and
Culture. She curently lives and writes in New York where she
oversees a collective of street artists.