I've been away from your poetry too long. Crushing political and bureaucratic stress has preoccupied my defensive left brain. Here on your pages lies the antidote. But I'm afraid I need to dose myself carefully in case it overwhelms me. Ah.That word "windfall", where does it blow? Through a lifespan of branching tree canopy: childhood memories good and bad; adult joys and pain. Windfall or spirit fall? I feel it blowing through my own Garden of Eden. I am compelled to stop and pick at this plum, which seems to me must be the true fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Ah, those stains, those bruises! So exquisite the tenderness.
5 comments:
and yet again I fell the pain, was it the plum that really made us fall or the apple, plum, colour of bruises
good question, Lorraine :-)
again, nothing autobiographical in this (the bruises i sustained growing up were not physical)
Evocative and moving.
appreciate it, Bill
I've been away from your poetry too long. Crushing political and bureaucratic stress has preoccupied my defensive left brain. Here on your pages lies the antidote. But I'm afraid I need to dose myself carefully in case it overwhelms me.
Ah.That word "windfall", where does it blow? Through a lifespan of branching tree canopy: childhood memories good and bad; adult joys and pain. Windfall or spirit fall? I feel it blowing through my own Garden of Eden. I am compelled to stop and pick at this plum, which seems to me must be the true fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Ah, those stains, those bruises! So exquisite the tenderness.
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