delara, interrupted

And now, a poem that revealed itself to me as I reflected on the ways in which we can be unaware and unawake (asleep) as human beings sometimes.

at my cottage door

my open hands extended to you
warm and
inviting you for tea on a sunny afternoon
you came and called to me
at my cottage door
a basket of yellow apples you brought
“to share together,” you said
but the yellow fruit revealed a sour nature to me
and to conceal your secret—
for i desired not your shame—
i baked fresh red apples into a pie
“to share together,” i said
your first bite was sweet and luscious
then to my dismay and chagrin
you threw the rest onto the floor
and blamed me for the insult
of replacing your gift of yellow apples
with red instead
my clasped hands entreated your forgiveness
for two long weeks—and then
you came and called to me
at my cottage door
a basket of red apples you brought
“to share together,” you said
the bright red fruit revealed a sour nature to me
but i had learned
and to conceal your secret—
for i desired not your shame—
i baked the sour apples into a pie
“to share together,” i said
your first bite was tart and bitter
and to my dismay and sorrow
you threw the rest onto the floor
and blamed me for the insult
of serving you sour pie instead of sweet delights
my pleading hands begged your forgiveness
wrung together
for three long weeks—and then
you came and called to me
at my cottage door
and your voice echoed within
the empty space where once we had shared
together