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Thursday, December 29, 2011

This pumpkin strives (the poem)

This pumpkin strives.
She climbs. She
grapples. Her fruit, more apple
green than the accustomed

pumpkin’s burnt
orange, peeks between
limbs spread wide, not to yawn
but to fly.

Why strive? Why climb, when
the lure of earth sits there so sure
below, its nurturing brown-black,
rumbling with need?

The see-through air dares
her with its sweet, and her cares
are precious but they’re
also very patient.
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