Alex Martin - Appalachian Fall

10. Appalachian Fall

Way up in the Henegars' tree just now picking the last apples
and the wind over the hill coming on.

Swaying I reached and it blew them past me
swaying again reached and it blew them down.

Again reached and it blew us together
me and the branch, the branch and the breeze

whispering together: bending almost breaking.

And on the near ridge crest on the slate gray sky
I saw Flo's steers feeding on Beulah's new roof

and Gerald and Clyde hamm'ring at their feet
and thought: bowed to the hammers for their bread

as they to the grass: hammering on: ruminating on...
the wind blowing on and on:

I to the apples, apples to the branch: branch to the roots
to the field to the beef and the workmen:

Where my brothers is the altar?
and whose is the sacrifice?

and for whom bow the apples blows the wind...
as I reached for the apples was I reaching for the wind?


I to the apples, apples to the branch: branch to the roots
to the field to the beef and the workmen:

Where my brothers is the altar?
and whose is the sacrifice?

and for whom bow the apples blows the wind...
as I reached for the apples was I reaching for the wind?

In the top of the tree the branches swayed
and I too swayed and sang—

Where is the altar?
Whose is the sacrifice?
Where is the altar?
Whose is the sacrifice?
Where is the altar?
Whose is the sacrifice?