Russet

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

Apple Pressing Day

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…

Harvest

Ripeness

 
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Ripeness is

what falls away with ease.

Not only the heavy apple,

the pear,

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,

with ease,

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.

 

Jane Hirshfield