As round and round, round and round
the apple turns, the knife
hissing faintly in short breaths and
the peel, yellow-green and lucid,
parting from the flesh,
the paring narrows,
narrower and narrower
as the knife goes on,
round and round the apple—
a millimeter wide, then less
a molecule wide
an atom
a particle
and the unbroken paring all the while grows longer
and longer
approaching infinity
so that now we see
the size of the apple no longer matters:
The crabapple
will produce as long a paring
as the Granny Smith
Therefore
all apples are the same size
and a paring can extend to the edges
of the universe,
its faint gold
growing paler and paler
in the waning light
–
Lynn D. Gilbert’s poems, twice nominated for Pushcart Prizes, have appeared in such journals as After Happy Hour Review, Arboreal, Blue Unicorn, carte blanche, The MacGuffin, and Sheepshead Review. A founding editor of Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, she lives in an Austin suburb and reviews poetry submissions for Third Wednesday journal.
© 2025, Lynn D. Gilbert
Halfway Down the Stairs 