We are between the Chaste
and the Seed Moons, between
Sap and Grass. Winter lingers
on the dark side of the road,
high in the mountains; but here
in the valley, spring touches
the liquid face of the pond, buds
on the birches. Long friends
share stories like knitted scarves,
unravelled, rewoven; nothing
lost or forgotten, nothing unused.
Bamboo needles, silver hairpins,
a hospital balcony, a death bed.
Brutal family holidays, road trips
in deep snow. We pass back
and forth between us, gold ear-
rings; apricots and grapes; what
we know and what we don't.
« black locust | Main | Wednesday Afternoon »
22 March 2006
Snapshot 22 March 02006
| |
|
Comments
You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.
The comments to this entry are closed.
Search
Recent Comments
- Sbpoet on Neighborhood Mid-October
- Anne Mathewson on Neighborhood Mid-October
- Rajani on even in sleep
- Dave Bonta on questions
- Theresa Quintanilla on I Don't Know How
- Matthew R Rose on I Don't Know How
- Leigh on Snapshot Poem 04 November 2020
- Kristin Freeman on 300,000
- Kristin Freeman on Begin Again (how many times must I . . . )
- Vicki Robinson on 220,000
Created with flickr badge.
Some Rights Reserved
this is really excellent, Sharon!
Posted by: cindy | 23 March 2006 at 10:04 AM
Lovely, Sharon. I like 'Long friends
share stories like knitted scarves, unravelled, rewoven'. There's an acute sense here of new beginnings & what endures.
Posted by: Dick | 25 March 2006 at 12:41 AM
You are quite talented. This is great. Publishable.
(I found this sight when I googled "good food". Weird.)
Posted by: E. Hansen | 31 March 2006 at 05:06 AM