A Doctor Among Crab Apple Trees

Abstract

On days I have to tell a mother her child died I take a walk alone at twilight, the sun burning the earth's skin, peeling away another day from earth's calendar. Crab apple trees live in open fields like latchkey children. Tulips and hyacinths scatter their petals like tumbleweed, the lone stalwart threatened by the quack grass that promises to choke her, while the robin's red breast and ebony crow wear my anger and frustration.