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Apple Pie Life
body
poppyromanov
Where can we plant the garden?
I’m thinking a lemon tree in the middle,
because, when they’re full and ripe
and I’m just drunk enough,
I’ll look out the window and think
that light can grow on trees.

How do you feel about a pond?
Lily pads and everything.
Maybe some real fish to swim
around in it. I can
paint them, even though I’m
terrible at it.

I want the cottage. I want the
green grass and the tomato plants.
I want the peace in you;
the front porch rocking chair lullaby;
our cricket legs rubbing
together under the covers.

We can’t have it all. I know
that, but humor me. We can’t
have it all, but we can have most of it.
A sliver of it, at best, and that
might be okay.
A lemon tree, definitely.
Write that down.
A bench to kiss you on. A kitchen
with too many windows.

I know you’ve heard this story
before, but that doesn’t make it
any less beautiful.

Come on, put a flower in my hair.
Bake that apple pie recipe that
your mother gave to you.
I don’t care about the dream of it,
just hold the spoon out for me
and let me taste it.