Toenails freshly pink, washing on the line held by the last
of the pegs, apricots the colour that can only be called
apricot (perfect for picking but rotten by noon). Bees sip
the lavender, the dog has – after a small performance –
swallowed her pill, the girls are up at last cracking eggs
for pancakes. Ian’s making coffee. Blitz of the grinder,
chuckle of fledglings on the roof wanting breakfast – one
being taught how to fly – an asterisk of a cloud dissolving
in the time it takes to walk to the compost bin. Summer
here – a held – breath – Now a thousand trees
exhale – now the deep greening that sussurates, resuscitates
– this! pixilated sunlight – leaves startled into silver.
Mary McCallum
Another one from The Tenderness of Light (see previous post). For more Tuesday Poems go to our excellent hub at www.tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com. Cheers!
9 comments:
Wow lovely! Especially "chuckle of fledglings" and the way the last three lines burst out!
My favourite phrase is 'perfect for picking but rotten by noon.' Even this vision of perfection has its autumn coming in! I really enjoyed this Mary.
Another gem, Mary! I was holding my breath at the end there - 'now the deep greening that sussurates, resuscitates'. Thanks for sharing!
gorgeous, thank you, for bringing the start of summer back into the end of it
yes...So Eastboourne, i was thinking and then wow a thousand trees do their thing. What gorgeous words!
Whoops - my comment must have got lost - I said 'yes' to what Peneleope said - having been bottling Golden Queens this week for my granddaughter - this poem reminds me of summer bottled.
Lovely - though we don't seem to have had a summer like that this year. Your poem is a perfect reminder of how summer can be - maybe next time!
I love "asterisk of cloud" and who doesn't love "susurrates"? I've used it myself in a poem.
Don't know about you, but I wish our summer had been half as good as your poem!
Thank you everyone - this poem was a lovely surprise to me. I was putting The Tenderness of Light together and I felt the book needed something lighter and summerier and in a different form (the poems I'd written over the summer were longer and generally skinnier!) My toenails were 'freshly pink' - so I started there and out it came. It felt like a celebration from go to whoa - a startled, warm, happy pixilation of a poem (the sounds are 'p' and 'ck' or 'x' sounds throughout) and the prose shape breaking up with the exhalation of the trees excited me. The thing is, it is exactly as so many of our days in the Wairarapa were this summer - we are in a sheltered dry corner - the trees help!
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