Issue 8 | Winter 2011


I watch you down the row,
picking, chest close to leaves, legs
close to straw, fingers red and busy,
and I am glad for that hot sun
distracting me from all the thoughts
that have made me angry hours ago
and makes you beautiful, a figure of
desire, steaming with sweat, smiling
up to me with a bucket full of berries
while I have been waiting to see you
look up and show me what you have.

Filed under: Poetry