Thursday, May 20, 2010

Bad Year




Even in this bad year,
the apples grow heavy and round.
Three friends and I trade stories:
biopsy, miscarriage, solitude,
a parent's unravelling body or mind.
What is reliable? What do you hold?
I demand of the future, later.
The future - whose discretion is perfect -
says nothing, but rolls another 
apple loose from its grip.
A hopeful yellow jacket comes to hunt
the crack, the point of easy entry.




~ Jane Hirshfield



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