she says she’s a ghost writer, which means she can write the words “poison apple” on a scrap of paper, eat it, and live to tell the tale, and i say, so tell me, how did it taste? and she says like a dream, from the wishing tree, sweat like spring and bitter like ink, and now her thoughts dwell deep (like an apple seed) in a cool garden grove
jalopy dreams 
Well you know how much I love this. Especially that most excellent title.
I get so excited when someone writes a short piece that is this effective. Sometimes the less the poet says, the more the story can unfold within the reader’s imagination.
I love the way you shaped the elements, beginning with the ghost writer tidbit and ending with thoughts planted for future fruiting trees that feed. Books, in other words.
Thank you for this. I love.
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That is so, so good.
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well, maybe, i’m still working on it, not sure what to do with it
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Like a dream from the wishing tree–how poetry should taste. This is perfect in its brevity, and rich as a ten dollar chocolate bar.
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