Indian Summer

He sighs and breathes autumn on her lips,
late Indian summer still caressing
smooth and softly tanned cheeks

while she collects sour sloes
that prick at conscience and land
in corona bottles mixed with gin.

He'll catch the falling apples
discarding those with wasp stings
and gift an apron full of love

children gather berries to steep their juice
in muslin cloths above a creamy bowl
straining at the bounds that so contain.

An imprint of ripe berry juice as breaths
mingle on cold mornings, she snuggles
deeper into sleep and dreams of yesterday.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 577 times
Written on 2013-10-03 at 07:47

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The approach of autumn brings ripening and fruition--both in the summer's end harvest and in emotions.

Well done.
2013-10-05


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Another of your mystical, wonderful, impressionistic works, elle. I always look forward to your next poem. This one doesn't disapoint!
2013-10-04



This is so lovely, and I couldn't help but notice that if you read the last word in each stanza (stanzas!) it makes a poem within itself: lips, caressing, cheeks, sloes, land, gin, apples, stings, love, etc. What a pleasure to read this.
2013-10-04


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is lovely, but so ambiguous. Yesterday? Which yesterday, the one which passed just before she slept, or one which passed long ago? We won't know until she's awake to say.
2013-10-03


countryfog
Simply lovely, Elle . . . there is always such grace and gratitude in the details of your poems, and the unexpected last word that seems to transform it from what is to what was, or perhaps the dream is of something else, something that goes on beyond, and because of, the poem.
2013-10-03


Ivan R
Oh, but what a marvel!
It floats, it lingers, it is beautiful words and life. So wonderful.
2013-10-03