Daily Ritual

My child’s skin was the taste
of apples in the warmth of summer—

there’s a way of holding an apple,
cradling its preciousness like a baby

in your hands, the startling sweetness,
of flavor that lingers all day, stays

inside my throat. A child isn’t yours
when they are grown, yet the feeling

of being needed by someone so trusting
reminds me of the way I yearn for apples

in summer, fearing one day
my hands will be empty.

Previous Next