Apple basket

I pause after pruning

Take off my shoes

Bare feet against Bear grass I kneel and gather up the filaments of Apple branches undone from the sky.

Eight spokes for the base, little runners to run round, I begin to weave a basket of their remains. As large as any I've built before.

Apple branches spread like legs under my fingers. Coil round each other like lovers tasting from the tree of life. I feel the sun and smile at my child building under my eyes.

Branches break but I don't mind, remembering how worried I was the first time. Teacher telling me every basket breaks, even hers.

Time to turn up I take off my shirt to make a circle at the waste. Each spoke tucked in at the top, I begin on the wall. This is the hardest part, frustration bubbling like a vengeful child.

Then -Snap- a spoke breaks. It's okay. It happens sometimes. I am patient as a river stream. Solid as a mountain. No novice basket maker I.

-Snap- Snap- two more. My hands teach me how frustrated they are, reach out and -Snap - Snap - Snap - Snap - Snap - Snap!

Then I stand up and toss an hour of time away. A bottom with no containing. A relationship with Apple branches snapped and thrown away. Impatient as the sky I turn and walk away.