I am again
walking to the
apple orchard
on the other side
of the woods
behind my
parents’ house
under maple
and eastern
redcedars
paper birch
and various firs
This story gets
simplified into
energy time Or
the millions
of years
it took to
create the job
the loan
the banking collapse
the water cycle
each election
the bunker buster
My generation
is dying and so
are all the rest
under the sun
in the arbitrary
location of all
this violence
we call
The Nation
I am jealous
of the way
a branch
breaks
burdened with
snow under
the fulling
moon tragic
and languid
This isn’t really
the language of
disaster
touching tho it may be
I am sorry
for this sentiment
This cowardly retreat
to the romance
of words while
nearly all
my friends
like me
are waiting
for the future
to happen
for The Nation
to split open
and rot
It would be nice
to hear
the way
those twigs
would break
under my feet again
To feel
the weight
of apples
in my backpack
watching the smoke
line from
the chimney
plotting my
course home
Nicodemus Nicoludis is a poet, adjunct, and the co-founder and editor of Archway Editions. His work appears in Small Orange, Prolit, Maudlin House, The Poetry Project Newsletter and elsewhere. He lives in Queens, New York.