It began with lists, and books, and pieces that didn't fit the flow of outside the windows. Lately it has been a safe keeping spot for poetry as well
THE YEAR OF BITTER PLUMS
Smoke on the mountain
you don’t come back to me
these nights of breaking
Ours was a china passion
doomed to edges
willow leaf or crow’s feather
We did not imagine this
blue distance
landscape of blackened roses
in the year of bitter plums
They fell too early
We pretended they were sweet.
posted by jarvenpa @ 7:55 PM
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I have lived in the remote hills of far northern California for a long time, and cozily nest in a multipurpose, cluttered bookstore these days. Although my online name, jarvenpa, has become practically as familiar to me as any other name I have used (it is from my mother's mother's birthname, with an alteration in spelling) my actual prosaic daily name is Kathy Epling.
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2 Comments:
That last line..." we pretended..they were sweet" says so much. Loved it.
I love that line "Ours was a China passion." How fragile and breakable that sounds.
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