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After picking apples
After picking apples,
shoulders ache
burnt russet and red
from the weight
of children.
Both stretch for best apples
burning bright, always
at tops of 8 foot trees.
Ribs bend in like branches
fold, when wee fingers reach
up from underneath.
Grasping a heart,
they push toward heaven.
Twist, twist and pull
there is nothing more
either has to give.
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