Here I am,
doubling back over
those tracks,
faint within rows of
sweet corn and beans.
As the days lengthen
and my time surely lessens,
the savory beets of winter’s past
linger on my tongue,
their ruby red juice
swallowing my taste buds up
in a mnemonic whirlwind of flavor—
the makings of a curious tale
taking root
along a path paved
by dried moss and weeds,
leaving me unsure—
wondering what to cast away
and how much to prune
to sow myself anew,
to create a mosaic of shapes and hues—
splashing nature’s flair
onto barren trees
surrounded by daffodils, tulips,
and every herb in between—
this tangled, star-spangled field
in me, a perfect pattern,
succeeding.
Even though the bleak has passed,
that delectable red remains—
a familiar greeting
amidst the bustle of spring
carried forward in a ripening.
 Butterzworth · Sun May 15, 2011 @ 04:39pm · 0 Comments |
