Appleseed in Autumn

Johnny hears the song

As he covers the last seed

With a patch

Of damp soil

He’s been human again for awhile now

But things like the stirring of a heart

When it hears a song

Still surprise him

He walks into the orchard

And feels the shadows

Of the branches

Fall over his face

The orange and red

Crunch under his feet

So he kicks off his boots

And lets his toes

Dig into the dirt they missed

Ever since he civilized himself

The beard on his face

Grizzles down and off his chin

Leaving the clear visage

Of a much younger man

The gold returns to his hair

And his arms fatten a bit

His wrinkles recede

His spots shrink back to freckles

His ear hair is no more

Why is he young in an orchard

But nowhere else?

His love Demeter

Brings about a harvest each year

But the orchards are his

And when he touches a Mackintosh

Or a Granny Smith

A little aura of warmth

Appears at the tips of his fingers

And he remembers

Who he was

Back when time

Was something you could leave in the drawer

Of a roadside motel

Next to a Bible

And a tip for the maid

Then Johnny fell in love

And chose to run a farm with love

Alongside the woman

Who was and always will be

A goddess of bounty and warmth

There was joy

In seeing the sun

Bring a change

To your profile

The years changed their hair color

And their build

And the way they wore clothes

And their opinions

And sometimes their compassion

But not when they could help it

Every autumn

They would slip back into

Their less ethereal forms

And remember how it felt

To point at a mountain

And have it move

This way or that

That was the strength

Of Demeter’s power

But Johnny’s was more domestic

Even at its brightest

His work was the seasons

And the shifting earth

The evolving air

The chipped bark

The names of lovers

Carved here and there

Johnny lays down

At a spot

Where the sky

Breaks through

The autumn canopy

And feels his clothes

Turn from cotton

To denim

His t-shirt

Becomes the top

Of a pair of overalls

And a straw hat

Blossoms out of his hair

The transformation happens

Every year

But every time it does

He giggles like a newborn

And finds a special enjoyment

In the effect

He’ll lay in the spot

In the sun

In the orchard

Until the day rolls away

Then he’ll make his way

Back to the farm

Where Demeter has had

Her own kind of day

In a bath of youth

Neglecting dinner

Or anything else

That could be considered domestic

The two will sit out on the porch
As their humanity returns

And watch the fireflies

Play on the lamps

Not knowing

Which light

Is which