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Posts Tagged ‘apricot’

Proof

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on March 18, 2022| 6 Comments »




So insistent
the apricot petals
press against
the winter buds
to emerge
first white
then pink,
like millions
of tiny proofs
for hope:
somehow
the softest
parts of us
struggle and
swell against
the hardened shell
of I can’t
and open
anyway.

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Bouquet of Six Camping Poems

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on July 28, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

eating wild plums—

the back of the mouth rucks

the lips quiver for more

 

*

 

in the hot springs—

letting myself soak until all I am

is a woman in the hot springs

 

*

raindrops on the tent—

I practice how to whisper love

in rain language

 

*

 

earwigs in the sleeping bags—

there is nothing nothing

good about this

 

*

 

bribing my daughter

with ice cream to hike—

each step a victory

 

*

 

apricots so perfectly

apricot, I clap as I taste them—

longing to be that true

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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On a Night When You Feel Far Away

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 28, 2015| 2 Comments »

I would like to find you
in the shade of an apricot tree
with rounded white petals
caught in your hair
and the hypnotic humming
of bees in our ears,
and we would lie there
draped in the scent
of warm sage and sweet bloom
and stare up at the blue
through the flowering limbs
and forget who we are
for just long enough, perhaps,
that anything could happen.

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Not Really Speaking of Apricots

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 3, 2014| 1 Comment »

Cut from the tree
they die so soon
the apricot blossoms.

I want to beg Love
to take the shears
from my hands.

Every blossom a beauty,
so fragile, so full
of perfect potential.

But any grower knows
how essential it is
to prune the limbs,

that the secret
to the finest fruits
is not let all of them grow.

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Another Way to Do It

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 5, 2012| 3 Comments »

Let her not like the apricots,
that’s one way to do it. Just say,

Oh. Or, Hmm. But no.
I question her dislike,

want to serve her apricots so ripe
they have fallen to the orchard floor,

sun warmed and red cheeked
and soft so soft.

I want to serve her the juiciest ones,
the apricots so ripe you have to hold your hand

far in front of your mouth and lean,
or better yet, the apricot you eat as you stand

beneath the tree and offer your mouth
to the branch and suckle the juice, let

it runnel down the chin, the cheeks, the neck,
I wanted to serve her apricots. It is like wanting

to convince someone who likes blue
that instead they should like red.

Why do I defend the apricot?
It occurs to me whole countries go to war

just this way … with one person who says
they know better. One person who knows

what God is like, or what is good, or what is right.
I’m sorry, I tell her, when I call her back. And she laughs.

And I laugh. How easy it is to get lost
on the way to something sweet.

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