In June, the apricot tree sagged
with squat fruit that fell splat
on the sidewalk. Children
jumped for the velvet orbs
By mid-July, all had disappeared.
All, except juice stains on concrete.
As if no velvet, no fruits,
no children jumping. Flowery
sweetness in the air gone. The tree
had always been empty. The ground
had always been stained.
In January, a child asked
what tree is this? and
nobody could remember.
Note: The title of the poem comes from the United Nation’s Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, which was approved by the General Assembly in 1948.
Kate Pyontek
Kate Pyontek writes poetry and prose and sometimes draws. Their writing has appeared in Poetry, Ecotone, Four Way Review, Southeast Review, Hunger Mountain, New Ohio Review, The Summerset Review, the lickety~split, and elsewhere. Kate has been honored to receive fellowships from Brush Creek Foundation for the Arts and the Ellis-Beauregard Foundation. Kate was born in New Jersey and is currently based in New England.
