Bob Orr

Kiwitahi Way

An orchard
silvery and green
as a sunlit breaking sea.
The season
stands aside
to allow my grandfather
his harvest.
Over seventy
he climbs a ladder
and disappears
into an apple tree.
How they bounce
into an empty bucket.
Like somebody
calling my name
out in their sleep
over and
over
        Robert
                 Robert

Author’s Note

Sources

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