There's no substitute for the ripe, for the seasonal. OK, OK I remember devouring canned peaches as a kid. Then again, I ate Maraschino cherries. Now not even vanilla ice cream would tempt me to grab either. Then again, I don't each much ice cream these days.
Does writing poems adhere to the seasonal? Does it stretch into editing? Does it extend to the reading of? Can you write, edit or read a poem out of season with vigor?. Conviction? Will the iterative voice of the ripe flow through?
The weight of place. Of season. Of time.
EATING CANNED PEACHES IN OCTOBER
she thought it best
to leave
the conundrum of actual
& perceived
for another time
and settled into
a cup of oolong
H/ continued
ReplyDeleteWhat a memory of her father came to mind:
he driving down to the fruit stand
eager to "put up" some peaches
his jars clean and ready to fill
These drives were the place he chose
to talk about things he thought about
side by side we would travel through seasons
the peaches of summer, the apples of fall