Here in this land
where harvests really happen,
a long way from home,
this land where I now stand
and watch the gathering of grapes,
the press of olives just picked,
the harvest of gourds
that wear withering leaves like capes.
Strange that something so foreign
to my coordinates throws me back
to where I began,
from harvest years to dawn.
A city child steeped
in one country's history
with hair and skin of another,
people in search of a land to dream deep.
And how those city ways
shaped me, formed the curve of my spine,
gave me the resolve needed for what I faced,
left me with enough for all my days.
You wear the place like a cape--conscious of the separation but so beautifully-and with a cape--a rather loose fit will do! Really pretty writing here,and very soulful too. k.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Karin, the effects of fall in the air and seeing a rack of hand- woven and hand- made capes in Maine on a recent trip...
DeleteLovely verses. It captures so many things, a longing for old days, for home, for feeling rooted...(reversed in our respective case).
ReplyDeleteYes, it's reversed for us but deeply felt.
Deletenice how we grow and grow into a landscape - and how it mingles and interacts and shapes our personality
ReplyDeleteAnd how we don't recognize it until years later.
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