Harvest

I watched a boy in a Superman t-shirt try to climb

a low-slung live oak and fail, stumbling backwards

Remember the apple trees in the yard

of the rented house? A good climber, they sent me

up after the apples– mealy, but tart and fragrant, brushed

with the crimson I looked for through waxy leaves

Or the pear tree my uncle climbed

before we knew he was dying, to shake ripe pears

from the limbs. We ducked, laughing, gathered them

in brown paper grocery sacks decorated with falling leaves,

falling snow, “May Your Days Be Merry And Bright”