Wintering
The last storm left half an inch of ice on the vines.
They are bent over, stooped like old bones
groaning toward the frozen earth. They creak
and clink, carry layers of weight, clatter cold
around one another, focused on the grounds,
and maybe a bit on themselves. Branches
were made for bearing fruit--sweetness given
to others--and yet they live like it’s always winter.
--Sukany 22 Dec 2013
Click the link blow to hear a reading of this poem.
A reading of "Wintering"
The last storm left half an inch of ice on the vines.
They are bent over, stooped like old bones
groaning toward the frozen earth. They creak
and clink, carry layers of weight, clatter cold
around one another, focused on the grounds,
and maybe a bit on themselves. Branches
were made for bearing fruit--sweetness given
to others--and yet they live like it’s always winter.
--Sukany 22 Dec 2013
Click the link blow to hear a reading of this poem.
A reading of "Wintering"