See
my grandma's arthritic hands
encircling a clean white sock,
squeezing the deepest purple juice
from grapes found wild
in her dying son's backyard.
Taste it--thick, warm as blood,
pungent as suffering.
my grandma's arthritic hands
encircling a clean white sock,
squeezing the deepest purple juice
from grapes found wild
in her dying son's backyard.
Taste it--thick, warm as blood,
pungent as suffering.
Yes. Strong, compelling imagery.
ReplyDeleteThank you! Lovely, as always, to "see" you here this afternoon :)
DeleteYour poetry, Elena, is a grace and a blessing. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that it helps one to live, to appreciate life in its fragile, ephemeral, immortal splendor. Whenever you share a new poem, the reader feels immensely privileged. As always, thank you!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Thomas ~ what beautiful words! I'm so glad this blessed you.
Delete