"Are these yours?" shouts my neighbor
twirling a pair of black, sandy sunglasses
by pinched fingers, the other hand shielding
her eyes as she looks up to the nextdoor porch
The grandma who lives there grows roses,
amazing, full, fragrant, heavy headed roses,
spilling over their five foot garden plot and chain link fence,
Such roses, as my grandma might have said
She hollers something back in Greek
I do not know Greek, but know these families
love each other and every season pack up
this thing and that, yours or mine? Such love
And travel together and come home to complain about their children,
some of which I can understand as they talk
together here, standing in the street.
If sunshine were happiness, a light external
that causes everything to warm, to flash
And sadness were water- fluid, filling any space
permeating up as humidity or freezing the pipes
and giving life when the roots of you tap down
into understanding and then
in the mingling of bright summer days,
a gurgling, greening, growth
copyright 2016, Sarah Hirsch.
A blog of mostly poems, some prose. Recent works will be added to the top, and older pieces are backdated. Please write me a note if you have any questions, etc!
All works are original and copyright Sarah Hirsch, 2017. Please contact me directly if you would like permission to use any images or words. Thank you!
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