Apple Tree Blossoms: A Prose Poem [rachel]

I went home for a visit the other day. She came to me, confidently, cheerfully while I was grading essays at the kitchen table. “Do you want a bouquet of flowers?” I was startled by the request. I could think of no occasion. She left the room eagerly and returned from the backyard with an armful of apple tree blossoms. Simple. Sincere. No strings attached.

Not all gifts are so harmless, blessing, innocent. Some are designed to produce a return, an indebtedness. Kind hearted people don’t intend it, but the expense, the implication, the amount of effort makes you feel, makes you feel a need. It’s not hard to tug at my heart strings, to produce that twinge of guilt, that seed of an unhealthy weight. Those strings—they turn gifts dangerous.

Usually the gifts that are most difficult to recover from are the phone calls, the hugs, the tears. Part of my problem might be a reluctance to be loved. But that’s fading, fading. Receiving isn’t toxic; I only thought it was because after hurt I folded up small and slipped into a comfortable box, no love allowed beyond the very surface touch. But . . . now openness is good, arms wide exposing the heart allowing it to fill with beauty love inspired—no box, only open air, blessings falling down from the sky in the form of presence, care, truth.

But when the phone calls, the hugs, the tears are calculated or frantic, are meant to fill a void in the giver, or to meet some deep need, to commandeer some sympathetic emotions—that’s when the toxicity comes. It corrodes the healthy heart and drop by drop guilt pools and grows until the dam breaks; the heart bursts and feels its own need it longs desperately to satisfy.

The best gifts are the simple ones, the ones with no strings attached. Like a hug from my best friend come home from Ohio or a smile from a child. Like a tub of fudge brownie ice cream from my roommate or an art kit from friends. Like a 19th century book of poetry from a sister or a night at the movies from Dad. My favorite gift lately? A bundle of apple tree blossoms from my mother. Wild and unruly. Simple. Sincere. I breathe in their freshness. My, they’re lovely.