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August (& that tree is no longer barren)

Poetry By: yahyeti

A poem about the fall

Submitted:Apr 25, 2013    Reads: 3    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

There is so much to adore, it is late August &

the fig tree has begun to bear its fruit.

I am awake in what I love & desire;

just like the fig, the oaks next to the stream

with tangled watercress-swallowed in

the nibbled wax work of the creek

-the scandal of all its bathing.

The landscape weaves itself delirious

with all of the obsessive play:

through the earth up

to the pinch & pump of stars-

the sun in the sky changing the pulp

of canyonside shadow-lawn membrane thick

in roses-moss crusted between soil & the dark

places it touches-

My mother looks out the window & tears

the fig skin apart with her thumbnail, peels

the fruit from the skin with her teeth.

Puneet rings the door bell to offer a plate

of eggplant & samosas. We share the meal

drinking wine & passing the long tumble of autumn.

The loneliness that is allowed to slip in

& numb the edges of our fingertips.

The loneliness that settles every year

a little deeper in my bones each fall.

He plays old songs we've written

on his guitar, as I collage from

National Geographics. Harvesting the ruins-


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