My Apple

My apple lives on my counter. My mother would make a sour face at that. She needed her fruit in fruit bowls. I do not own a fruit bowl. I dont own the counter either. But I am allowed to use it until the lease expires. My apple is allowed to use it as well. My apple is red. A red delicious. I find that pompous. Arrogant apple. My apple is like a lot of friends I have. Egotistical. Boastful. My apple is sad I have not eaten it. It has been on the counter for 4 days. Growing soft. Weak. Bruising. My favorite part of my apple is it's stem. It has been broken. By me. I snapped it while at the check-out counter. It was gratifying as the woman ahead of me wrote a check. If my apple was in a row of apples I'd know it by the stem. Unless someone else snapped their stem. Then I'd have to hesitate. I call my apple. My Apple. I named it that knowing it would die soon and then I could write sonnets in its name. Oh, My Apple. Reading that fast sounds like a real name, Ohmyapple. I like that. My apple is dependable. I know when I come home from work it will be there. Greeting me. Quietly. It is the quiet type. I like to smile at it when I pass it. Let it know I am considering it, and I am. How do you like those apples? I don't. I like my apple. My apple smells like cider. It's as though it has already been tortured to its pulp and liquefied. It smells familiar. I grew up on an apple farm. I hate picking apples. I love apple juice. I love apple sauce, sweetened. I wish that all apples were free. Mine was free. I stole my apple. My father couldn't eat apples. He lost all his teeth in a car accident in his twenties. He refused to wear false teeth. I don't like how that sounds "wear false teeth." You wear them I guess. But its more of a device to help. I don't "wear a tampon." Internal devices aren't worn. They are used. He refused to use false teeth. The skin of the apple was too tough. He cut them into slices. He put salt on them. That's disgusting. The only tree I have ever successfully climbed was an apple tree. I wish my apple came from that tree. It didn't. It was a great tree. I see it every Easter when I go home. I touch it. I don't climb it. I am afraid to break it. I hope my daughter climbs it. Apples spelled backward is selppa. Sounds like a tea. Selppa tea. Or a backpacking company. Selppa Gear. I'd brand that. Selppa would be written in an apple. An apple that looked just like mine.

in love. trying to fall out.

and im lonelier now. she didnt say to anyone.