Crabapple trees go pink in spring
and you forget how annoying they
get in the fall, with the fruit.
This year the buds died on the branch
after a dry, warm winter and a suddenly
icy spring. Dry on the branch
I crush them between my fingers.
The tree keeps growing. New leaves
set in. And I say look,
If you had just kept going, there
would have been water in time,
warmth in time. I see other trees,
down the street, in bloom. You
kept going, sure. But you could have done
what you were planted to do.
But maybe, this year, it didn’t want fruit.