I enjoyed the imagery of this but think it could be pared down a little. I tend to write with not enough words but think this could benefit from that a little. For example...
(omit)

Cinnamon-sugar apples remind me
of melting snow, somewhere
when grass was re-exposed,
and tree tops slipped off their frosty robes,
(as) naked in the sun.
(as a confession)   
 
A raw breeze out of season
skips past the icy(-eyed) guard of winter
through wiggling brown blades,  is this grass or tree limbs?
and nudges the tender-buried fruit

of a moment I can taste   this part seems awkward to me 
precise enough that I recall
its sweetness,
while not near enough   
to take.
 
Only yesterday,
frozen pines lined pearly-blanketed hills,
their branches heavy-
bent into white drifts,
now trickle(ing like) as in early spring
 
when apple blossoms grow(.)
I am reminded of (something
from a long time ago,)
a flavorful chunk of feeling
that I’ve felt (this way before,)
here in my kitchen,
as I reach for countless pieces
from a precious apple’s core.
 
I indulge the unruly guest
that turns over the Snow
and slips through the screen
teasing.
This dash of morning left
a hint of surprises.
 
Somewhere,
sometime,

when grass was re-exposed say differently as already used in beginning

in the middle of December,
I must’ve eaten apple slices
before you had to go.
 
I wish I could remember.

I wish it were spring ....tho we are having a chinook I still don't care for winter that much anymore.

Thanks for the suggestions, nas.
I haven't been getting a lot out of writing lately because I've been so consumed with other business. 

Thank you again for stopping by and for your help.  I'll be going back to this off and on.

Yvonne

Hi Yvonne

I like the combination of different apples and the unusually mild weather melting snow linking with a vague recollection and a memory of someone special

A few thoughts take or leave as you wish.  Your poem so up to you.

Quote:

Cinnamon-sugar apples remind me
of melting snow, somewhere
when grass was re-exposed,
and tree tops slipped off their frosty robes,
as naked in the sun
as a confession.  

A raw breeze out of season
skips past the icy-eyed guard of winter
through wiggling brown blades,
and nudges the tender-buried fruit
of a moment I can taste
precise enough that I recall
its sweetness,
while not near enough 
to take.

Only yesterday,
frozen pines lined pearly-blanketed hills,
their branches heavy-
bent into white drifts,
now trickling like in early spring

when apple blossoms grow.
I am reminded of something
from a long time ago,
a flavorful chunk of feeling
that I’ve felt this way before,
here in my kitchen,
as I reach for countless pieces
from a precious apple’s core.

I indulge the unruly guest
that turns over the Snow
and slips through the screen
teasing.
This dash of morning left
a hint of surprises.

Somewhere,
sometime,
when grass was re-exposed
in the middle of December,
I must’ve eaten apple slices
before you had to go.

I wish I could remember.



Yvonne Sitki