i'm getting back my original sin 

one apple at a time. all the seeds
tremble in me like jewels. when i die
i might become a whole orchard
& people might walk through me,
pick an apple & it will taste like
a birth stone. my birth stone is ruby
& my great aunt joan had the same.
we talk about apples as if they're red
but even the red delicious are more maroon.
precision is important though buffalo & bison
mean the same thing. so about the birth stone,
i glint red in the right light.
my great aunt joan is an orchard now
though the trees are headstones & 
no apples blossom in spring. the smell
of a fresh cut lawn trickles down from heaven.
i want that sin back. i want to really know
the depths of being human. naked in a garden 
of birth stones wanting to be amethyst like my mom. 
i make many mistakes daily. 
i make a fool of myself. 
the apples are empty of knowledge
& now the truth is deep in our ligaments.
what was god keeping from us?
my aunt was kind to me. her lipstick 
was soft pink, crackling on her wrinkled lips.
i never saw her eat an apple.
she wore clip-on earrings. 
i eat right through the core of apples.
we burried her. we all wore black.
onyx is the birthstone for december.
her orchard is covered in snow.
the dirt is fresh. the mass is short.
the priest talks about her smile.
she thought i was a good person.
she cried at the sight of my face.
what does it mean to crumble away 
from the image someone else has of you?
i think about her hair when she stopped dying it.
it was red but really orange.
nothing is actually red as far as i'm concerned.
most apple's flesh is off-white.
i'm eating alone at a desk. 
my teeth are rubies.