Once upon a late Sunday
As afternoon turns to evening,
Spring shows green before

I saw you
Sat In an old

Turning an apple
Over and over
In your hand –

Left – not right.
Twist its sheen skin
Red flecked with green
Complexion that fills
The palm of your

Neglected to turn the
Until it snaps
She loves me
Loves me not.

The mind wanders
Wonders – what
Happened to
Snow White?
If the apple still
Stays lodged in
Her throat.

See her sleeping
Serene – a place
Since the September
You slipped your hand

Inconsequential – now.
Rather akin to the man
in Dicken’s
Debtors prison – blacking tan.
Thoughts that consumed.
Urgent of:
How are you?
What are you doing ?
Have you eaten?

Published by Stella McHugh

Survivor of so many things that happens to women and girls.

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