The writer's almanac hit the bull's eye again with this one.
Cherry Tomatoes
Suddenly it is August again, so hot,
breathless heat.
I sit on the ground
in the garden of Carmel,
picking ripe cherry tomatoes
and eating them.
They are so ripe that the skin is split,
so warm and sweet
from the attentions of the sun,
the juice bursts in my mouth,
an ecstatic taste,
and I feel that I am in the mouth of summer,
sloshing in the saliva of August.
Hummingbirds halo me there,
in the great green silence,
and my own bursting heart
splits me with life.
1 comment:
Love the poem.
And recipes.
and 5lb 2oz tomato story.
Viva dreams and bones.
mbk
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