Sunday, November 13, 2016

Excuses for the change

               . .              We're sick of green,
               of weeds reseeding, lurid pokeberries
               bunched and fat. The season's mean

               with an open, metaphorical
               kind of discipline. The walnuts are thick
               with walnuts, but stripped by wind of leaves.
               Persimmons soften for our sake.

               I'll strain them for their pulp when they
               are almost rotten; we'll celebrate
               the sweetness of decline - fall's little
               ditty, where mercy rhymes with fate.

  Selection of Tree Fruits
APR/Honickman First Book Prize
American Poetry Review
Copper Canyon Press, 2011©

No comments:

Post a Comment