LISA BAIRD

Poem That Wanted to Be an Apple 

Wanted to twist oxygen
and light into flesh, one
 
of many red bells in the trees,
revered as scholars, or gods.
 
Poem that wanted to be 25% air,
wanted to glad-haunt
 
the orchard, the bushel,
the bowl on the table.
 
Wanted teeth on skin,
that good pain—gnawed
 
to a tight constellation of seeds,
dark database exposed.
 
Poem that wanted to be
known, to be necessary,
 
to rest in the palm
of your hand.


-after William Stobb