.
Jeramiah, five years old
Died a hundred years ago.
Family, friends, casket.
No cemetery with the others,
No tombstone required.
Under the apple tree
Next to the winter kitchen.
I am now.
Ten years old.
Sitting high in the old apple tree
Next to the winter kitchen.
Me in the branches
Jeramiah in the roots.
This is not a sad thing
It tells me about before me
It tells me about after me.
Biting into the apple.
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