Grandma Aesop's Apples - Finale

Written by: John Heck

Grandmother pointed out warning signs on the apples.
Her strong voice resonated as she referenced bruises and marks.
Her wrinkled hands brushed over minute holes and obvious incisions.
She clutched the apples in her weather-worn palms
without uttering a single word.

She carefully lifted each apple to her nostrils
and then began discarding them respectively into the two bushels.
By days end, both bushels were full.
I softly said...
"What shall I do now with my bushel, Grandmother?"
She laughed and kissed me on my cheek whispering...
"We shall bring them back to Grandma's kitchen.
We will then transform these delectable fruits into an exquisite pie.

A pie pleasant to the nostrils.
A pie warm and sweet to your tongue.
A pie brilliant to behold and soothing 
to your little tummy and giant heart.
A pie that will make my grandson feel happy and content inside.
A pie baked with love and truth and honesty".

And I replied..."And what are you going to do with your bushel, Grandma?"
"Well, my dear,
I will OVERTURN my bushel and THROW these apples OUT!" – 
she dramatically replied.
"For they are bad and serve no purpose in my kitchen."

It's been many years later, my dearest one.
And late this evening I have been reviewing our union.
I fetched myself a writing tablet and a pen.
I leafed to a clean page where I then assembled two bushels.
To the left hand side of the page I situated your Advantage bushel.
The right hand side of the page underscored your Disadvantages.

I began to think as Grandmother would.
A keen eye for detail and clarity
whispered her loving observations into my ears
like an invisible windsong.

By midnight,
the blank page was now devoid of it's once white canvas.
I looked at the bushel to the left -
then quietly stared at the bushel to my right.
The bushel to the right was sated
whereas the bushel to the left was sadly barren and almost empty.

I reviewed the two bushels a final time.
I took a deep breath and 
gently placed my pen and tablet atop my writing table.
My dearest one,
although you're not here tonight -
I realized my life 
needs to have the bad apples banished.
I silently apologized to you 
as I picked up the bushel to the right
and without uttering a single word -

I finished my last fork full of apple pie 
and switched off the light.
I shed a solemn teardrop that bore your name
puffed up my pillows
gently overturned the bushel

and contentedly

threw you out.