The Dead Layer

Whenever I’m at the store buying apples

and someone I've known taps my shoulder and says

didn’t you used to be

I always wonder which one they mean

the me in the sun at the tip of the branch

or the one who fell hard and lay bruised in the grass

and whenever I look at a painting of apples

I see what used to be called the dead layer

the moonlight shades of ochre and umber 

that lie just below the bright apple colors

and whenever I stand in front of the mirror

someone I know says what do you see

the dead or the bright

the paint or the glass

and I'm never sure which apple I am.