Reread this poem this morningβ¦so many thoughtsβ¦nectarines have always been a symbol of summer for meβ¦my father, who was born in 1906, used to say that when he was my age they didnβt have nectarinesβ¦the smell of them ripening in the blue glass bowl on the kitchen tableβ¦the fruit fliesβ¦always the wasps nest outside our kitchen window over the back garage door. Wow.
Reread this poem this morningβ¦so many thoughtsβ¦nectarines have always been a symbol of summer for meβ¦my father, who was born in 1906, used to say that when he was my age they didnβt have nectarinesβ¦the smell of them ripening in the blue glass bowl on the kitchen tableβ¦the fruit fliesβ¦always the wasps nest outside our kitchen window over the back garage door. Wow.
Beautiful - thank you for sharing π€
this was a lovely poem π©·
the lines "this catalonian grove is a cemetery/where burial pits become wombs" will forever haunt me... such beauty, such haunting imagery
Thank you for such a kind comment! β€οΈπ₯°
Damn beautiful, Paperfly.
Thank you so much π§‘
Thank you.
Youβre very welcome - thank you so much for the comment π
such a delightful read this was, love the imagery π€
Thank you so much β€οΈ