Apparitions of Former Selves

Ghost apples linger on frozen branches,
transparent outlines of where plump flesh used to be;
ice casings, left behind, to remind the fallen fruit
to reseed and rise again, from their former selves.

These glasslike ornaments last only until
enlightenment arrives in compassionate rays,
melting and transforming former self-images
into sparkling droplets that evaporate in fresh winds.

Like empty chrysalises that remind passing butterflies
of their once thick, wormlike bodies,
restricted to ground travel, susceptible to being stepped on,
and disdained by their winged reborn selves,

these apple apparitions might haunt some people who wish
to forget the heaviness that they shed to reinvent themselves;
but might enchant others, who feel joy in observing
their dissolving as vital to their evolving.

Susan L. Lipson is a published poet (Haunted Waters Press, Rattle Magazine, Plants and Poetry Journal, San Diego Union-Tribune, et al.), a children's novelist, a writer of short fiction and personal narratives, songs, and educational materials. Susan also runs a creative writing enrichment program for kids and does occasional freelance editing.