It's apple pickin' season
and my Ma wants to meet you.
The boy who set her prickly girl's
heart on fire. I told Ma 'bout that
time in the woods, us rolling around
in nettle and red dirt, how you bit my
neck and then some other stuff, 'till more
stuff startin' happening below my belly
button. And I told Ma how you wrapped me
in your denim jacket and carried me all
the way home. I cleaned out an old milk
jar and stuck those wild sunflowers inside.
Now there's dust on my grandma's doily
and Ma says don't trust no man bearing
flowers with kisses like fire. I didn't tell
Ma it's too late, but she probably knows that.