|photo by Dorothea Lange|
juicy berries ripe for the picking
hungry hands fidget in pockets
scouted, squeezed, bruised, tasted, devoured
when did you learn to turn away
pretend not to see?
look at your garden
the fences won't keep out the crows
they circle as you sleep
submitted for Poetry Jam, A Time to Ponder
when did you learn to turn away and pretend not to see....wow...that is a loaded question...nice
Sometimes people and animals just do what they have to do. Crows are just better at it.
No, it wasn't about fruit at all, was it? Nice.
Ah, reminds me of fond bit of nostalgia. When walking a few miles back from the public swimming pool in Indy, my brothers and I would always stop in this open field and pick mulberries. Mother would be upset with us because the stains would wipe off our fingers, hands and around our mouths. Fun, fun, fun. The little things, you know?
This is not about fruit? But... you talked about berries. Juicy berries. Now I'm just confused.
Ominous and full of deep truths ....
When will the circling end? I am so tired and sad hearing about these things.
Your metaphor is excellent. Although I didn't notice it until I read the labels. They were such subtle hints.
Quite the double meaning! I was thinking, this woman and her children probably did very little pilfering... were probably too honest. And then others with abundance, don't think twice about pilfering and being dishonest.
"hungry hands fidget in pockets"
What a revulsion inducing image! Powerful, powerful piece.
This is the only poem with the label "This is not about fruit." I think I would have been lost on this one, if it weren't for the labels.
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