From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned
toward signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer,
dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,to carry within us an orchard, to eatnot only the skin, but the shade,not only the sugar, but the days, to holdthe fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite
into the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we liveas if death were nowherein the background; from joyto joy to joy, from wing to wing,from blossom to blossom toimpossible blossom, to
sweet impossible blossom.
Li-Young Lee, from Rose
1 comment:
-0-
Post a Comment