Ripe tomatoes, sweet corn, peaches. They are all here, and we are eating them all. This morning, delicate white Mexican onions crisped with corn kernels, spinach and basil from the garden, and a fried egg in the middle. Is there anything better?
So here’s a tomato poem, also a love poem, also short–three excellent attributes for a poem I want to post. Early Cascade is the name of a tomato, of course:
I couldn’t have waited. By the time you return
it would have rotted on the vine.
So I cut the first tomato into eighths,
salted the pieces in the dusk,
and found the flesh not mealy (like last year)
even when I swallowed the green crown of the stem
that made my throat feel dusty and warm. Continue reading “Summer food”
After the last post, Simone sent me a report on a heron rookery, and it mentioned damsel bugs and dragon flies. I wasn’t going to post two poems in a row, but the coincidence with this poem and its damselflies was too strong to resist.
I’m not crazy about the beginning, the old “poet looking for a subject” opener, but once it gets going, I like it a lot. That said, my friend and fellow poet likes the opening just fine. And the way it uses nature is quite different from Mary Oliver’s poem, but the impact just as strong, I think.
I sat, as I do, in the shallows of the lake—
after crawling through the rotting milfoil on the shore.
the materials offered me were not much—
just some cattails where a hidden bullfrog croaked
and a buckhouse made from corrugated tin—
at first I thought I’d have to write the poem of its vapors.
long enough and the world caves in, Continue reading “More transcendence”
Just when I thought I was finished with this topic for the moment, I came across this poem in an old copy of Poetry East.
How Western Underwear Came to Japan
When Tokyo’s Shirokiya Drygoods caught fire
in the thirties, shopgirls tore the shelves’ kimonos
and knotted them in ropes. Older women used
both hands, descending safely from the highest floor,
though their underskirts flew up around their hips.
The crowded street saw everything beneath–
ankles, knees, the purple flanges of their sex.
Vesus the younger girls careful keeping
one hand pinned against their skirts, against
the nothing under them and their silk falling.