Orchardist by Mary Franklin


A full blood moon beams on the leafy trail
he walks along, carrying a leather bag
full of seeds collected from cider mills.

He sees a clearing, casts handfuls of them
on fallow ground, continues to a roadway,
barefoot, hatless, his tunic tattered, unhemmed,

in need of a wash. Now he raises his hand
to greet a farmer. Good day, kind sir, he says.
Good day to you, Johnny Appleseed.

No cabin door is closed to this slender man,
wiry, alert, blue-eyed, mild in manner,
the planting of apple trees his main concern.

He has a dream that no one should go hungry.

Mary Franklin has had poems published in various journals including Iota, The Open Mouse, Ink Sweat and Tears, London Grip and Three Drops from a Cauldron, as well as several anthologies, most recently by Three Drops Press.  She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.

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