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JEFF CALLAHAN: Music

Apple Blossoms

(Jeff Callahan)
In belted coat and a loose cap, you walk alone by the wood edge, I watch in shirt sleeves from the table, boots on the window ledge.

In our low-gabled farmhouse as evening sets to mellow, you’re painting swans on all the porcelain while I tend the embers glow.

Shaking down the apple blossoms while stringing up the clothesline, your ruddy shadow in the deep grass once pressed her lips to mine.

Chicken blood fresh on his lips, the fox hides out in the woodshed, tries not to hear the kettle boiling or smell the buttered bread.

Shaking down the apple blossoms while stringing up the clothesline, your ruddy shadow in the deep grass once pressed her lips to mine.

Hawthorn nipping at your ankles with hand on hip and one knee loose, you cast over a worn oak limb your daddy’s favorite noose.

Shaking down the apple blossoms while stringing up the clothesline, your ruddy shadow in the deep grass once pressed her lips to mine.