Mature Fruit Trees

by Shane Murphy

The southern line of the parcel

snakes with the creek.

Better this than a line

of best fit plotted among the switchbacks.

The water is neither here nor there.

Whoever pays to claim the land may not

claim the water,

which is just

passing through.

From the winding road, the true

view of the land heads uphill

at a steep angle, where grafted

apple trees stipple the soil, and last year’s

fallen, brown and sapped, still riddle

the ground around them, not cleared

before the owner planted

a FOR SALE sign

at this bend in the orchard.

Or perhaps the owner died

and a child or niece or bank is betting

on a newbie’s interest in two-hundred

acres and mature fruit trees

abuzz and bright in April.

The grafting is miraculous.

The lower branches are a grandmother's

pink-sequined arms swaying, reaching down

for a dance with a toddler. There are wedding

photos like this. The upper reaches

are her canities, soft white flowers

of an older time. The tree looks happy,

and the one beside it, and the whole

neat communal row.

Here, as no one mows, and the grass

and oriental bittersweet are given

time to flourish, in under a year

the land reclaims

a century of meticulous

cuts and guided growth.

BIO: Shane Murphy left an MFA program early to work at a small press. He now teaches Spanish and writes music and poetry. He lives in Poughkeepsie, NY, with his wife and two sons.