“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label prune. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prune. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Grape and Plum: A Raisin to Prune
Something says
Mature
about a grape
or a plum
per se
symbolically
a tinge of empyrean
or is it in the color?
Have you
perchance
tasted a sour one?
You know you cannot tell
by the purple shell-
when even the peachiest flesh
bites back, bitterly.
Grape and plum wind
up to a higher air, elevated
and astutely erudite.
Ever-enduring and life-sustaining
fruits and stones, vines and arbors
plucked and dried to dehydration
where sugar is preserved
inside the lines.
Out from the water
which now makes our skin
resemble these: raisins or prunes,
making wine or meijiu
with the aide of lemons.
A tangled path,
the wrath of a wife
whose plum mad
one of her perfect speci-
mens-
was cooly
stolen from the fridge.
Maturely,
with sticky June juice
on her chin, she wins-
she smiles at the sweet one
she got,
knowing these
are life lessons
in taste.
Image of painting by Anne Vallayer-Coster, c. 1778 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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