Isabelle Cooper


After Taste


She went to gather
Fruit from the wild plum tree
that was uphill and hidden from the house

She was not wont to go there
When it was blossoming though

Something too disturbing in the
air- treacherous to her...........
But It was to make jelly that she climbed

So far, stopping on the steep
hillside at times to listen
For what was not there,
and feel what was vanished

She came to visit the dead-
as she gathered the ripe plums,
Not silent with the ghost
that was always there

Nor he with her....

Eating as he was each time
with such gusto
Such running rhapsodies,

Such eye-closing expressions,
as hint at secret worlds of savoring...
Nothing, nothing for him
surpassing this harvest,

And nothing for her surpassing
his keenness...

Always the final turning to her

He with faint wonder
...And doubt
'How can you not like them? '

It was because she has not yet
acquired a taste for bitterness she said......

Her head lay now a moment in the curve of his arm
Like the pressure of living, flesh against her shoulder

The plums hung heavy on her downhill jorney
Moving into shadow, careful of rocks
on the weed-entangled path

Finally are
...... the plums
Safe now in the familiar kitchen:
And safe tomorrow in tomorrow's...... jars enclosed




Submitted: Monday, March 10, 2008
Edited: Monday, May 26, 2008

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