Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Fertile Ground

WHAT TO EAT, AND WHAT TO DRINK,
AND WHAT TO LEAVE FOR POISON

I.
Only now, in spring, can the place be named:
tulip poplar, daffodil, crab apple,
dogwood, budding pink-green, white-green, yellow
on my knowing. All winter I was lost.
Fall, I found myself here, with no texture
my fingers know. Then, worse, the white longing
that downed us deep three months. No flower heat.
That was winter. But now, in spring, the buds,
tiny and loud, flaring their pettaled wings,
bellowing from ashen branches vibrant
keys, the chords of spring's triumph: fisted heart,
dogwood; grail, poplar; wine spray, crab apple.
The song is drink, is color. Come. Now. Taste.


from What to Eat, What to Drink, What to Leave for Poison by Camille T. Dungy. Copyright 2006. Red Hen Press.

1 comment:

campbele said...

Very nice poem and timely as all the delicate buds are just beginning to apear. As a midwesterner, it feeds my appreciation of all seasons, but, for me, fall still wins! Why? because those colors and scents means that winter is on the way!