From the Tree

I am my mother’s son.

 

My apple has travelled its short distance -

rolling passed high school.

Here I’ve gained pride.

 

A summer’s bird picks me up -

dropping me off in Arizona.

Here I’ve gained respect.

 

July winds push me back home -

my apple cooks in a restaurant.

Here I’ve gained grit.

 

Our bird returns to take me away -

lengths away from the tree.

Here I’ve gained independence.

 

Before reaching the East -

I fall and must hike through mountains.

Here I’ve gained comradery.

 

Finally, I reach heights unknown -

my bruised skin among those flawless.

Here I’ve gained acceptance.

 

Eighth of November, and I am bitten -

this tattered apple realizes he’s lost.

Here I’ve gained adaptability.

 

Our year’s chapter reaches its last page -

I survived and briefly return to her tree.

Here I’ve gained understanding.

 

Now I see her scars and honor -

turns out I'm not the only scarred apple.

Here I’ve gained determination.

 

After all,

I am my mother’s son.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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