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A Reprieve from Winter Isolation
The fruits in our yard, young and golden,
are plentiful,
and plucked from their stems in handfuls, as I watch the clothes on the clothesline harden from the sun.
But you could never sit so quietly,
and leave to trample the rotting mangoes under the corner tree-
their bright tang surrounding the earth, and your heels and your toes.
Mrs. Henry is furious now,
but you are yellow and golden from juice when you run from her.
This feeling is something old
This feeling is something old and sitting very still close to my heart. I keep rereading this to figure out what it is.
It's something about the last line that makes me think of childhood infatuation, watching someone you idolize in a moment of glory. This poem is really something special.