Wash the apple. Quarter the apple.
Seed and thinly slice the apple.
A whole morning can pass this way—
holding the apples, slicing them through,
making small v’s in the quarters
to remove the seeds.
And how many times in four hours
do I notice how perfectly the apple
fits in the palm of one hand—
as if it were made to be held.
How seldom did I dance
beyond efficiency to notice
how the skin resists the knife,
but the flesh is so sweet, so willing.