Sometimes the simplest poem can charm me, like this one from Sean Singer’s “The Sharpener” this morning:
You are my friend–
you bring me peaches
and the high bush cranberry
. you carry
my fishpole
you water my worms
you patch my boots
with your mending kit
. nothing in it
but my hand
Lorine Niedecker
I wonder if she is talking to another or to herself?
