By Ansie Baird


There’s a dog in the sky.

Or is it a crow.

There’s a knot in my eye.

What should I know?

There’s a leap in my step.

Or maybe a crawl.

Here’s the stain where I wept

On the fencepost of Fall.


Apples don’t need to be red.

Patients don’t need to be real.

Apples don’t have to taste sweet.

Doctors don’t have to be male.

Apples spill onto the floor.

Even the good ones turn sour.

Answers don’t always make sense.

We’ve come to the end of the hour.

ANSIE BAIRD is Poet-in-Residence at Buffalo Seminary and a co-editor of Earth’s Daughters magazine. This poem was recently published as a broadside by Mohawk Press for the Poetry Collection of the University Libraries at the University at Buffalo.