Apple Juice Love

Michael Lee Johnson

Life, a ripe apple—

Red Delicious,

rumor of hell,

bittersweet to the core.

If you can taste it with

& chew it with false teeth. Most friends have vanished—

ghosts slipping beyond

shadowed, silent doors.

That parlor where no returns.

It's only a rumor.

Yet, I wander the garden,

fields stripped of grace,

grapes foot pressed into concord—

faith fermenting in the barrel

of hidden old gospel & songs.

Kneeling in this season of loss.

Lies the tartness of redemption.

While others (wheeled) wield the devil’s

fork in the heat of their own fires.

So, squeeze what sweetness remains,

press me—

last sweetness.

In your apple juice jar of love.