An Orchard Is a Forest We Broke

CJ Evans | Poetry

Walk with me the rows and whir: poor trees poor trees
poor wildness clipped, fruit plucked, ugly branches robbed
of the weight of little animals. Pears rot around the roots,
blind black eyes in yellow skin infolding, eaten from inside

by neglect and wet. Look down the row and earth bends
away from them toward the naked dirt between, and here,
in the cold cradle of winter, we wear high vulcanized boots
and I work hard each day to remain in the world with you.