Sevens And Apples
Right now in the Mystery that is the Pfistery,
there is a basket out in the lobby
a tisket, a tasket of apples,
all sized small
enough
to keep inside my blazer pocket
my pocket’s apple is named King David
cause I’m told these are King David’s Apples
an heirloom variety individually selected
by the hotel’s own king executive chef, Brian Frakes
who has decreed them the Hotel Apple
for the month of November you can taste
the Pfistery essence for yourself
it has a deep red flavor that doesn’t go all the way
down the dark path with declarations of feral passion
in the way heirloom red apples sometimes will,
this one stays sweet and neat, with a dry flesh
that would be good sliced thinly over oatmeal,
or as they do it here, served with duck
probably similar to the way my family served it
seven generations ago in Poland
I’m thinking of this ’cause
Chef Frakes told me King David’s sibling,
the Arkansas Black apple was discovered
in 1893, the same year this hotel first opened,
which was approximately seven seeds ago,
as he put it,
“If a seed is approximately 20 years,
we are now in the seventh seed at the hotel.”
I’m reminded of a poster in the bathroom
of my college’s liberal arts building,
that had a picture of wilderness,
and a quote about making all decisions
with consideration for those
who will live on this planet
seven generations from now.
I am in my 27th year of life,
my seventh month
as the seventh Pfister narrator,
the voice the comes up behind
three guests from Dallas
to describe the Victorian painting they are looking at,
a scene, “The Eternal Apple of Eve,”
two friends peeling apples, peeling with laughter,
a painting that was bought by Guido Pfister,
the man who planted the first seed of the Pfistery
that feels so luxurious to explore on my own,
passing the rooms where meetings have been held,
candies half unwrapped on the table,
notes taken on the complimentary pads,
complimentary pens strewn, chairs pushed back,
the intensity of multiple thoughts,
has yet to be swept away by the staff
I hear coming down the hall with their cart,
so I leave to inspect the 23rd floor
and run into the Dallas Trio again,
yes, I am the disembodied voice that narrates
the window view for these three flight attendants
who are unaware that they are admiring the world’s only
inland freshwater sea.
These flight attendants take three-day trips every week,
before Milwaukee they stayed in Canton, Ohio,
“It was almost as good as this,
but this, is a step above even that.”
They tell me there is nothing so historically grand
in all of Dallas
the only thing that comes close
is the Pyramid Room,
a hotel still in its first seed.
I could end the story here
but then I’d miss how
on this day of apples and sevens
I was passing the elevator when
Peter, the concierge, asked me
if I was following him
to get his apple.
I did not know he had an apple,
he did not know I was thinking about apples,
but he stuck his arm out
as the elevator doors began to close
just his head and hand could be seen,
His head told me, “It’s a Jonamac!”
His hand held it out for me,
I accepted it so he would not be guillotined.
This is a comely apple.
