Black Apples

Swinging under a tree, black apples fall

To the ground while blood-red leaves gently

Sway like the limbs, stiff in the branches; tall

6 foot 5 inches, naked and empty

Like the hollow inside when I’m hungry;

Ravenous to know WHY? To understand;

I shouldn’t be here playing among the

Fairies and flowers; we’re in Wonderland.

“Hush! Hush! Don’t look!” Mama crosses her chest,

I skip to hopscotch in my Sunday best.

“Who is that man, Mama?” I want to plead;

Tacked to his tongue is a note that I read:


They couldn’t mean me, but if not, then who?

Alexandra Dumas is from NYC, attends Columbia College Chicago, and enjoys doing stunts on her rollerblades. 

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