I want to say Eve’s tears
I want to say her freckled skin
I want to say unlock the pantry
I want to say a finch singing
I want to say green, darling, green
Paintings by Vanessa Bell
Words from last week’s ‘Poetry of Food’ workshop
A wonderful day at the Farmer’s Market in Hexham on Saturday – surrounded by apples and juice and everyone in good spirits. As the apples were being pressed, I gathered people’s apple memories – from Durham to Himachal Pradesh, from Holland to Northumberland, from Kent to Slovakia, from wartime to that very morning. The plan is I’ll weave the 52 luggage-label offerings into a collaborative, on-the-fly renga. To follow shortly…
what falls away with ease.
Not only the heavy apple,
but also the dried brown strands
of autumn iris from their corm.
To let your body
love this world
that gave itself to your care
in all of its ripeness,
and will take itself from you
in equal ripeness and ease,
is also harvest.
And however sharply
you are tested –
this sorrow, that great love –
it too will leave on that clean knife.