If there is anything redemptive about August in Virginia, it's the abundance of things fresh and crips from the vine/bush/tree. Today at lunch I ate entirely too many cherries and remembered this poem, written last summer during cherry season. Thought I would share one of the things that helps me survive the southern summer!
The Orchard
Leaves of light flank the painted
mountains
like ladder rungs under the press of
sky
in the weight of morning we walk the
dusty road.
The world is cool beneath the branches
of the cherry tree
limbs trembling with vermillion orbs
that glow like bulbs and lay hot in the
palm
the electric sun longs to bake the
flesh into
crisp pies and sticky jams
The earth is good. It slakes our
thirst
with taut fruits and foamy soil
we are our true selves as sweetness
runs down our chins and stains our
fingernails
The flies buzz their hallelujahs
around our ears
and old women in scarves
hold fistfulls of cherries and chuckle
in a language we do not know.
