Sunday, 12 August 2012

Sunday Poem


The idea was change, or
at least rearrange our lives
to fit inevitable weather—

We bought fruit
camouflaged by bruise,
froze stews, thought we could make do
with what was left of preserves.

The idea was clemency, prepare,
avoid our tendencies
to move too quickly, to pick pears
that could stand to soften.

We stashed all we could
of birch sleeves, bagged leaves,
figuring we could always burn
our britches, our ancestral tweeds.

The idea was to make it new,
at least attempt to make it through
a season we both knew better
than to bear.
From Hypotheticals (2011) by Leigh Kotsilidis.


Anonymous said...

Poem as Martha Stewart Living.

Anonymous said...

Other than: "to pick pears that could stand to soften," there's not much new here, but that's no surprise.

Carmine Starnino said...

If you're going to tough talk other people's poems you can at least do without the cowardice of anonymity.

Stewart Cole said...

This is a lovely poem, mellifluous and weirdly wrenching. I haven't read Kotsilidis's book yet (though her poetry has drawn my attention several times before), but this piece ensures I'll read it soon. Thanks.