Start with this, bend. Work from the grained spine and back. The ridges of ribs take longer.
Look up. She watches your fingers run along the belt of fibre. See this. Her hair was as white
as a moonbow. There is nothing about this you understand. Yesterday, you tripped and caught
your forehead on corrugated boards that whooped 'Plums! Asparagus! Come eat'. Come, eat.
You bled on a seed packet. Silently, she kneels and picks feathered asparagus tips.
They click like cicadas, like a late clock.
as a moonbow. There is nothing about this you understand. Yesterday, you tripped and caught
your forehead on corrugated boards that whooped 'Plums! Asparagus! Come eat'. Come, eat.
You bled on a seed packet. Silently, she kneels and picks feathered asparagus tips.
They click like cicadas, like a late clock.
Start with this, bend.
Joining in with the inspiring Tuesday Poem community this week, where there is a fabulous poem by Petra White at the hub, 'Southbank' (chosen by Jennifer Compton). Above is a small section of a poem of mine that was originally published several years ago in Abridged in Londonderry. I reworked it somewhat a couple of months ago. It feels appropriate, given the slow shift into autumn (although, hello sun!) to share this poem so focused on the act of harvesting. Happy poetry reading!
I really like this, Elizabeth. Thank you for posting it.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Helen - so pleased you enjoyed it and lovely to have you pop by! :)
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