When apples drop, one by one, in the middle
of the afternoon, I think they’re rolling back
to the beginning. . .
I hear thunk & think twice of birth’s bruise.
I admit my perceptions are dangerous:
the ghost moon rising in a watery sky
could be Columbus’s tall ship sailing
in sight of land & landing with a smack
Sun blind. I can’t explain why
the sun & moon share the same sky.
Yet, it happens when hours of day &
night are nearly the same . . .
This explains why, like the sun, I prefer
to stay behind the clouds.
I am a dark silhouette drifting
across water, across fields, across sky.
I can look back. I have an apple for you.
M. J. Iuppa lives on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Her most recent poems have appeared in Poetry East, The Chariton Review, Tar River Poetry, Blueline, The Prose Poem Project, and The Centrifugal Eye, among other publications. Her most recent poetry chapbook is As the Crow Flies (Foothills Publishing, 2008), and her second full-length collection is Within Reach (Cherry Grove Collections, 2010). Between Worlds, a prose chapbook, was published by Foothills Publishing in May 2013. She is Writer-in-Residence and Director of the Visual and Performing Arts Minor program at St. John Fisher College in Rochester, New York.